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Hoolivard the Bold told all in the wagon for the umpteenth time since his turning that he was brave in the face of adversity. He liked talking now almost as much as he had done in life. And though his loquacity irritated Tracker Hunger, his master recognised the potency of such a skilled Turned. “I envy you,” he told Hoolivard the Turned, “For you are a thing of perfection now.”
Dark magic had given the cripple arms. A nest of ever writhing, twitching pink arms floundered across the ground towards Hoolivard. Smaller arms anchored into his sides leaving the larger ones, some as long as three metres, to flounder, gesticulating aimlessly in the light breeze. Each monstrous appendage was a fast moving tentacle capable of stretching to unbelievable lengths. Hoolivard the Bold could grapple with his victims from a great distance. The nest of arms could also be ejected, move independently from their diabolical living dead host.
Upon his head, squashed down so tight it covered his eyes completely, was placed an iron-forged helmet, slitless and angular. Hoolivard the Bold was so honed for killing he’d no need for eyes to find his enemies.
“I can smell them,” he declared sniffing once or twice for effect. “And like all the battles in my life, I always win. No one can stand before me and best me.”
The Golem boasted now by saying, “I’ve given you something greater than life.”
Hoolivard powered his appendages into the ground, lifting himself up. “I am beautiful,” he declared.
“You are strong,” Hunger leaned close to kiss the Turned on a cold grey cheek.
Shrunken heads appeared in great numbers and from every direction. The clamour of their collaborative chatter peeved Hat, which slunk off the Trackers head to be alone. The heads swirled around Hunger, divulged what they had learnt had passed at Black Pots, reported with expletives the fate of three more Turned. BoBath and Bloi the canker twins were killed, as was Jackal-Ball. And then came encouraging news; Flendin the Blade was heading back to Never.
“And what of The Terrant?” the Golem asked of the heads. “How soon before he reaches the city?”
“The Terrant is a week away.”
“A week. How come so slow?”
“The Terrant was injured in Audry. A group of treasure hunters tackled him, hurt a leg. The Terrant ate everyone there as example. Lowlifes need kicking from time to time.”
Tracker Hunger dispersed the heads, motioned for Hat to double-time it back.
Hoolivard turned his head in the direction of his master, a futile gesture now he could no longer see. “And at the battle of Herinhad I killed twenty five. I can kill more now. Unleash me.”
“You’re history is known to me. Prove yourself and you’ll be General of the Turned. Get back in the wagon. All of you, back in the wagon, I have work for you all.”
Hunger had turned every cripple who’d been in the Miracle’s act. Some were short and squat, others tall and thin. Some had blood red lips and teeth like spears whilst others were bags of pulsating meat. The Miracle’s wife and daughter had been eaten by the hungry Turned and even as Hunger was hurrying the Turned up a head walking on stubby hands gnawed on the body of the Miracle. “Mary Bad Head leave The Miracle alone and get on board the wagon,” Hunger snapped. “You’ve all feasted enough. Hurry, hurry. You too, The Miracle, get up. You’re driving the wagon. To Never. Go to Never all of you.”
The cadaver of The Miracle obeyed and stood up. He complained about the bite marks covering his body, brushed grass off his front and took his place at the front of the wagon. The Brazmen circus would be coming to town and The Miracle had finally found his way in the world. He was lost no longer. Tracker Hunger was too heavy for the wagon so he would follow behind and at his own monotonous pace. “To Never, go. Wait for me at Never,” he bade and the wagon groaned as it started forward.
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“You need to eat something.” The voice was that of Maver Kane’s. Ordesky had been pulled out of the hole, dragged into another room and slumped down forcefully onto a bench-seat. On a table before him was set a bowl of oats mixed with steaming hot milk. A vigorous hand on his shoulder reinforced Maver Kane’s deep, emphatic tone. He wasn’t going anywhere until he had eaten something.
The light in the room was almost overpowering after the totality of the drain’s darkness and Ordesky’s eyes began to stream. He blinked repeatedly, trying to adjust to the brightness and through squinting he could now make out the shape of the bowl on the table placed before him.
“Mister Kane says you are to eat.” Another hand clasped the back of his neck and Ordesky got the feeling that if he didn’t start eating soon his face would be pushed into the bowl.
The scrape of chair legs on the stone floor and Ordesky knew Maver Kane had decided to join him. He squinted harder, could make out the bullish shape of the thug leader. The fat head, the broad shoulders.
“I don’t want to kill you,” came that emphatic tone of Maver Kane’s again. “So I want you to eat something. You’re all skin and bones and if I was to guess I’d say you hadn’t eaten in days before you came here. Am I right?”
Ordesky managed a gentle nod. The hand was still on his neck.
A series of tuts from Maver Kane. “Dear me, it must be hard being a coward. Not having the courage to step out of your home to search for scraps.”
There was nothing Ordesky could say to defend himself for the man had spoken the truth. He loathed being spineless and despised himself for it. Hearing what he already knew did nothing to lighten his spirit so he picked up the spoon and started to eat. The sooner he did as expected the sooner they could shove him back into the hole and let him rot. A coward deserved no less a fate. His stomach cramped and his throat tightened but he continued to eat and the more he swallowed the greater his appetite became. It was like his body was remembering what appetite felt like and how good food really was. He belched yet never slowed bringing the spoon to his mouth.
“Good, good. The oats will give you energy. There’s more if you need it.”
Ordesky nodded and another bowl was brought out before he had even finished the first one.
“We can talk when you’ve finished. You see I think you do know where Flendin is. And you’ll tell me in a minute, won’t you?”
Ordesky stopped eating immediately and swiped the bowl aside. He let out a whimper for he knew what had to happen next. He was struck on the back of the head and to the side too. He was pulled up out of his seat, flung round and punched in the stomach.
“You’ll forgive the irony of my words but you two were as thick as thieves. There’s no way he’d leave the city without telling you first.”
“He told me nothing,” Ordesky managed before another strike to the stomach winded him. He curled up, tried to make himself as small a target as possible. Ordesky’s eyes continued to water only this time it wasn’t because of the light but because he was crying. “He told me nothing.”