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The Miracle had got lost again. He had no sense of direction in life as in death only his cargo was less forgiving than his wife had ever been. Mary Bad Head bit chunks out of his back whilst others jeered and poked fun at him. Hoolivard the Bold made him pull the horses to a halt and escorted him down onto fresh crisp snow. He was going to kill him again. Rip his body into a hundred useless pieces and feed him to the excited Turned in the wagon. He raised a clump like hand ready to strike when a scent suddenly caught his interest and he faltered. He sniffed hard and his nostrils twitched. He recognised the smell and threw The Miracle roughly to the ground.
“Your lucky night,” Hoolivard growled and then he sniffed again and turned his blind head to the north. “Do you see lights?” he demanded.
The Miracle lay on his side. He put a finger to a hole in his back where Mary Bad Head had been biting him repeatedly. “She’s been after my kidney,” he gasped in amazement. “The good for nothing...”
“Do you see lights?”
The Miracle stood up and moved over to the wagon. His feet sunk ankle deep in the crisp snow and he brought his knees up level with his waist to save shuffling and tripping over. “Give me my kidney back,” he ordered, tapping the bars of the wagon with his knuckles, but Mary Bad Head slunk away from him. The other Turned moved to cover her, to protect.
“Give it back. You’ve already eaten my wife, you’ve no right to eat me too.”
“You touch her and I’ll come for you. I mean it. You will know suffering then.” One of Hoolivard’s arms flinched and stretched out like a blind tendril. It touched The Miracle with just enough force that he had to catch his step to remain standing.
The Miracle bought the threat and he spat loudly. “Pah!” and he gave up on Mary.
“Do you see lights to the north,” Hoolivard repeated for a third time.
“What? Yes, faint. A long way off.”
“I smell him, the General. Those lights are Never. I find the route despite having no eyes. Do you hear me, creatures? I find the route.”
The Turned in the wagon clapped and cheered, made a noise anyhow they could.
“You’d make a good general,” Mary Bad Head flattered.
“Maybe I would,” Hoolivard said thoughtfully. “Miracle, get up on that wagon and head towards the lights. Don’t stop and don’t veer from course. You won’t get lost this time.”
The Miracle shook a warning fist at Mary Bad Head then took his position at the front of the wagon. “You ate my kidney you miserable bitch. I’ll get you for this,” he grumbled.
“We’ll be in Never soon and I, Hoolivard the Bold, will get to prove my worth.”
The Miracle flicked at the reins and the wagon groaned into motion.
––––––––
Smidgen was guarding the door. We’d dragged the bodies out of the tavern before they started to smell. I think secretly he was eating them. Surreptitiously gobbling them up one at a time when he thought I wasn’t looking. Gee but the man had an appetite. Spared us from a problem though: how to get rid of the dead.
If anyone in our clique had ethical difficulties with it they’d the good sense to keep quiet. So Ordesky and Evin washed the blood off of the floor, walls and ceiling and made an effort not to look Smidgen’s way in case an arm, foot or head hung from his mouth prior to being swallowed down whole.
“You can’t come in. Bar’s shut,” said Smidgen not even bothering to see who it was knocking on the door. He made a good guard dog. There I went again comparing him to a canine.
Ordesky had made good on the hole in the wall. Evin had some old tables in the cellar he had used to cover up the worst of the damage with. We weren’t air tight, so to speak, but who would want to break into the tavern?
Stories of Kane’s defeat, and the violent end to his men’s lives had probably started travelling the length of Old Quarter already. Then there were the bits of people Smidgen hadn’t consumed yet, stinking out the alley just outside the inn. A deterrent if ever there was.
“I’m sorry but you’re not coming in,” Smidgen said again, this time with an eye pressed to a crack in the door.
“Who is it?” My interest was raised for it was a tenacious fool pressing Smidgen this night. City watchman or former follower of Kane? If it were Bannin annulling on our deal I would snap his skinny neck. I had to know which. “Who is it?” I repeated, nudging Smidgen away from the door that, incidentally, Ordesky had re-hinged only hours earlier. I recognised the two men immediately and waved them in. “Rauper, Nice, come in, come in.”
Smidgen looked abashed. “But?”
“It’s okay Smidge’. They’re friends of mine. Don’t let anyone else in though. Where’s Bent?”
“On the roof.”
“Why? What’s up there?”
“Says he’s keeping watch.”
“Good.” I still didn’t know about Bent. I meant how I felt about him. With him on the roof there was a physical distance between us that saved me from looking at him and since killing Maver Kane every time I did that I felt sick to the stomach.
It wasn’t Bent’s fault for he was as much a victim as Kane had been, but I despised what he was and what he was capable of and I despised myself for not intervening and giving Kane an easier end to his life. Those screams touched a nerve every time I re-imagined them.
Still it was better Kane was dead than Ordesky and I couldn’t help but think that if things had worked out differently Kane would have made my friend suffer. But that didn’t make it right, did it? I mean what we did to him. How we took him so violently out of this world.
Bent was a demon. I’d known that from the moment we’d first met in Buckbroke when he had me dangling by my throat. But he was more complicated than that for he was capable of expressing intense love too, albeit in a rudimentary manner. The way he looked out for Smidgen was as a brother would and, to a lesser extent, the way he looked out for me too. There was no length he wouldn’t go to, no line he wouldn’t cross to protect us and that was what made him so dangerous as he had no sense of boundaries. He couldn’t process what was and wasn’t acceptable behaviour.
No, that couldn’t be true. He’d been scared of upsetting me when he’d been slowly killing Kane so he fully understood the evil he was committing. He knew it was a sick act to perform and yet couldn’t stop, couldn’t deny his base instinct. I swear that, just like me, he was ashamed of his deed, was just helpless at trying to change what Hunger had made him. He’d been turned to be a cruel cold-hearted killer yet a tiny part of his soul remained, lost somewhere amongst the dark magic of the Tracker’s doing, and it was a force for good. But it was too small to make a difference. Instead it impressed on Bent a conscience, a conscience he was incapable of following.
He must be tortured being continually at odds with himself. Perpetrating vile acts he was powerless to stop committing.
I could have him wrong. It could be real simple and he could enjoy what he did. Yet the more time I spent with our angry Turned the more I realised he did want to change. He really did.
“You still haven’t said what he did to Maver Kane.”
That was Ordesky asking an awkward question. “No I haven’t,” I retorted. Nor would I tell.
“You kill Kane?” Rauper removed an iron helm with a curved and studded rim and ran a hand through his brown hair. Rauper and Nice were Collectors. The city paid such men to ‘collect’ dead bodies and transport them to the morgue. There was always work for them in a city Never’s size. These leaderless days more so than ever yet the passing of Maver Kane would have an impact on their workload. “Light days ahead, Nice.” Rauper moaned jokingly but he meant it.
Nice had an orange coloured cape fastened around his neck so vivid I would swear he could be seen all the way from Claw. “Here, here,” he said, raising a hand like he was lord something or other.
Rauper and Nice made an odd looking couple dressed as they were in clashing items of clothing scavenged from one cadaver to the next. There was no uniformity to their appearance, no attempt to try and coordinate what they were wearing and their comical fashions changed daily as ‘proceeds’ were a perk of their grisly job.
‘Proceeds’ equalled theft.
Normal collections were the poor, pulled from middens or gutters and moved to one of the four main morgues of the city for a penny payment and a cup of something hot to drink. There were exceptions to the drudgery of picking up the underprivileged for even the nobility expired at inopportune moments. Word travelled fast when that happened and sometimes Rauper and Nice arrived to find the collection stripped of all, teeth included. But Rauper and Nice were professionals and they knew the city better than any other and usually they had pick of the ‘proceeds’.
Nice extended a ringed finger to Ordesky. “What d’you reckon, Ordesky?”
“Eight fennigs,” said Ordesky barely registering the bauble.
“Eight fennigs,” Nice said with disbelieve. “I thought ten more than that. Might as well keep it if I can’t get more for it.”
“Maver Kane dead then?” Rauper for a second time. This was important to him for there would be fewer dead to pick off the streets if it were true.
“Me and a friend killed him,” I said quietly, almost hoping no one would hear me. Oh the shame of it.
“Overjoyed to have you back, Moribund,” said Rauper, kissing the hilt of my sword.
“He had it coming. Kane I mean,” said Ordesky.
“Good to see Ordesky still kulkin and not Kane’s guest,” said Nice, giving Ordesky’s shoulders a friendly squeeze.
“Kulkin?” Smidgen confused.
“Ordesky be kulkin till the day he’s potted,” Evin interjected confusing Smidgen further with the thieves parlance.
“Thought he was dead or living low. Knew he wouldn’t be potted,” said Rauper.
“Ah dead,” Smidgen understood that. “Finally something I understand.”
I thought I’d better put Smidgen straight. “Dead don’t mean dead. Dead as in hiding. Potted means dead, as in the end. Living low is behind bars. And if you’re kulkin then you still thieving and selling on.”
Smidgen snorted, “Too much to think about!”
“I’ve seen him before,” said Nice, pointing his ringed finger at Smidgen. I got to think Nice was proud of his jewellery. Liked exhibiting it. Any excuse to point and show it off.
Where could he possibly have seen my Smidgen before?
“In a nightmare.” Ordesky thought he was clever with that remark. He wasn’t. He mouthed an apology to Smidgen.
“The Man Eating Monster from Merridol. I saw him perform in Misery.”
“What were you doing in Misery?” Rauper’s incredulity was based on the fact that Nice didn’t like getting out of his bunk let alone out of the city.
“Got an uncle who owns a wool shop there.”
“A wool shop in Misery. Well that’s original.” Evin was joining in now too.
“Only went once. Saw him eat some dead people. An old man would hit him with a stave if got too close to the crowds. Yeah, seen him before.”
Such a circumstance didn’t surprise me, didn’t surprise me at all. After all a man of Smidgen’s characteristics was ripe for exploiting. I finally understood who the old man had been in the puzzle of Smidgen’s past as he must have been his owner.
“That was then. Now he’s working for me. He’s trustworthy and hardworking and as free as you and I. No one owns him now. Right Smidgen?”
A feeble smile broke across his face, more relieved than pleased I thought. “Yeah, right,” he agreed.
“He can be trusted. Treat him as you would me,” I added flatly. There was no room for argument on that point, flat.
Nice waved his ringed hand like he was clearing up some confusion. “Yeah, sure Flendin. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“I know. Just making things clear from the off. Same goes with Bent.”
“Bent? You’ve made some interesting acquaintances since you been gone old Flenders.” Rauper slapped me playfully on the back and I shot him my, ‘don’t do that’, look.
“He might make you feel a little ill so just give him a bit of space,” I said.
“Ill? Space? What kind of friend is he?”
“A good one,” said Smidgen, interjecting loudly and faithful as ever.
“That thing on the bell tower another friend of yours?”
“Don’t joke Rauper. We’ve got to kill that.”
Rauper swallowed hard and his usual joviality vanished with that one exaggerated gulp. “We have?” He panicked, eyes shifting this way and that.
“Evin, go upstairs and fetch Bent and get my bag too.” I swept a table top clean ready to put my bag down onto. Time for revelation.
––––––––
I sensed people’s breaths catching in their throats as Bent sidled down the stairs. His black masked face lingered on each new person as he descended, like he was analysing them, studying them. Finally he drew close to the table and immediately bodies moved to give him space.
“He won’t eat you,” I reassured and gestured for the group to re-circle the table. “Smidgen might, but Bent won’t,” I added wryly. It was a fumbled attempt to make the others feel at ease but it backfired for the tension just got tighter. I shouldn’t joke about my friends and especially Smidgen. He was a sensitive soul.
“No, he’ll just pull you open and empty your guts on the floor.”
“Ordesky, please.” Ordesky really wasn’t helping endear Bent’s bad name.
Playing ignorant to the slight prejudice, Bent touched the table with his fingertips, declaring, “The troublesome bag.”
Rauper got low to the bag and sniffed. He had a nose for valuables. He was a collector and used to rooting out quality. “That the King’s shield? Heard all kinds of stories of how you stole this shield and ran away with it.”
“Move your head,” I cautioned and grabbed the tied end of the large bag. The cold and wet had turned the drawstrings into hard cord that cut into my fingers when I pulled at the fastenings but gradually I worked them loose.
“Is it gold?” Smidgen’s eyes were wide with expectation. He looked at me then quickly turned back to the bag. “I’ve never seen gold before. I know you said it wasn’t once before but surely there must be some gold in there.”
Inside the large blue bag was a smaller one that I opened too. A strong smell filled the room. It was of old bones and dehydrated muscle and Ordesky clapped a hand across his mouth and belched a sickly burp.
“It smells of...”
“Death,” I ended his sentence. Hard things banged as I tipped the contents out onto the table top. “You were almost right, Rauper. About it being the King’s shield.”
“That ain’t no shield, Flendin.”
“No, but I am. I’m the King’s Shield.”
“Then that,” said Nice using his ringed finger to point at the jumble of bones with, “is the King?”
“Yes,” I said, “and I’m protecting his remains.” It wasn’t much to look at. A jumble of chipped and splintered bone and a skull still fuzzy with hair. But he was all there, the parts that had survived the rushed excoriation. Stuck to the material of the inner bag were the organs, all shrivelled up and black looking. “We can’t let the Tracker get these bits of body. Not one bit,” I stated grimly. “That’s why I left the city and that’s why I’ve been protecting them with my life. So too Smidgen and Bent.”
“What would he want with that?” said Smidgen screwing his nose up and blinking hard. I think he was disappointed with me and with the bag he had guarded so faithfully for so long. There was no gold, no sparkling diamond the size of a clenched fist, just old bone and tatters of leather-like skin. To his mind it was worthless.
“He’s raised hell trying to get a piece of the old King. Now we’re back here where it all started and he’s following behind. He’ll be here soon, in a few days, maybe less, but we can’t let him have a single piece of the body.” If I sounded dramatic it was because the situation was. I had the King of Never’s remains on a table in a city soon to be beset by The Golem of the South. I couldn’t say I really understood every why fore and reason but I knew what we had to do. What part we all had to play. “We protect his remains with our lives.”
“It’s just old bone, Flenders,” Rauper protested.
“I’ll protect it if you want me to but why does this Golem want it?” Smidgen was still eyeing the contents with disdain. I don’t think he could be more disappointed. “What would someone as powerful as the Tracker want with bone and hair and so much mess?”
“The Golem doesn’t want the remains,” Bent answered and all mouths drooped agog, including mine, at the sudden shock disclosure. “He hunts them for his masters; the Witches from the deep-south. They were originally a covenant of five, born at the time the world was made. Not inherently evil but thousands of years of almost unlimited power perverted them. Now they’re gnarled, twisted, powerful beings intent upon controlling the north. The southern lands of Kakkakin are their domain and they fear only one thing; invasion.”
“What the hell!” I stated, flustered. Bent surprised me with his uncharacteristic loquacity. Him happy to divulge information just didn’t sit right with me and I looked at him hard, disbelieving what I was seeing, or rather, hearing.
Bent ignored my comment. “The King of Never wasn’t what he seemed. For long years the Witches bloodshot eyes have been looking north, observing, learning, hating more with each passing year. As the north became stronger, the counties uniting under one King, so the Witches became paranoid. One of their number went north and killed the King. Paraded as the monarch.”
“The King wasn’t real? The King was possessed by a witch!” Evin, like the rest of us, was having trouble believing this. It seemed unlikely. Scary. Impossible.
“Not possessed, more disguised. The real King was killed, disposed of completely. By having a double on the throne the Witches could change laws. They could promote the wrong people in government; make risky decisions that threaten the stability of the economy, incite hatred and national insecurity. When the landscape of the north had changed enough in their favour they’d finally send their soldiers in. If we lose the bag then hundreds of thousands will die in war.”
“Why the bones? What good would it serve them?” asked Rauper.
“Who knows what vile magic they can perform on just a piece of the dead King’s remains. I believe even by ingesting just a little they could absorb its power. Rituals could be said over the bones, more of its potential released or maybe, because it’s family, they just want it back. But I do believe if they get the bits back they can cause more trouble with it.”
“Then we can’t afford to lose it can we?” I said with stern resolve.
“How do we know he’s telling the truth?” Rauper was feeling brave today, challenging Bent like that.
“You don’t,” snapped the dark cloud and I thought it the end to their spat.
“This Golem,” started Evin, “if this Golem is as powerful as you make out, were they not foolish sending it out unsupervised? Perhaps we could control it and send it back.”
“One of the Witches of the covenant travels with him.”
“Oh,” I said, looking up at Bent. This also was news to me. “Then we have to kill that too.”
“Yes. It travels in a hat.”
“We still don’t know he’s telling it straight.” Rauper looked at Nice for support, then Ordesky and then, finally, at me. “He could be working for the Witches. He’s Turned ain’t he?”
None of us backed him but pumped full of bravado he tried to stare Bent out.
“I could be,” said Bent and he took a step closer to Rauper.
“Bent,” I called him back but he ignored me.
“Your friend has a point. I could work for the Witches and I could snap his back as easily as a man breaks bread. Right now, in front of everyone and no one could stop me. That’s the thing with life in general, Collector Rauper, you can never guarantee the outcome of anything.”
I rolled my eyes. I’d had enough of this friction. “What is it with you two?”
The pair of them folded their arms and turned their backs on each other.
“How come you ended up with it?” Ordesky asked the one obvious question no one else had thought to. How did a thief end up custodian of the city’s most precious object? Was it my imagination or did the room suddenly get really quiet as interest rose sharply. Even Rauper ceased squealing long enough to listen.
“I was summoned to Chancellor Haven the night the King was killed,” I begun to tell the story:
––––––––
I was by the fireplace in The Fortune of War. Feet crossed at the ankles on the table, nearly empty flagon of Evin’s family beer leaning on my chest. I watched as Captain Jakolbot of the Neveren’s entered the inn, in my head I bet it was me he was coming for. I noticed he’d a gloved hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword. A good thief notices these things. Details, always about the details. Could be the difference between life and death.
“A Neveren in The Fortune, you must be quite desperate or stupid. At least you’re not Captain Tankready for if you were I’d kill you where you stand. His fat face offends me.”
“Please,” Jakolbot gestured like he wanted me to walk ahead of him. To leave the relative safety of the inn.
I declined. “I understand I have quite a bounty on my head. I suggest you start explaining your actions before I disappear into the night and you’ll never find me again. Or maybe I’ll sink Moribund into your soft guts. I’m way quicker than you. Test me if you like. The alcohol hones me.”
“Please, The Blade, be assured.” Jakolbot’s hands, palms out, implored. “A terrible thing has happened and Chancellor Haven has requested your presence. He has a favour to ask of you, to beg of you. Please come with me. On my honour there is no ulterior motive. Your liberty will not be threatened all the time I am your guide. Trust me. There must come a time when even a thief has to put trust in someone.”
“I trust my friends.”
“Please, The Blade, before it’s too late to make a difference. If it helps to sway you then take my sword.” Jakolbot pulled a foot of sword from the scabbard and proffered it me. Faces looked up hazily from frothy drinks at the unmistakable ring of a sword springing free.
I made a big show of getting up, demonstrating to the shady patrons that I was in total control. “Keep your metal toy. Just remember I can get to mine quicker than you can yours.” No idle boast from me and he knew it. The whole of Never knew it.
Intrigued, I went with him but I made him walk in front the whole time.
There was panic everywhere in the royal manor of Tambroite. The King’s northern most residence doubled as a municipal building as Chancellor Haven rented several rooms there. Servants, looking confused and scared, clustered in hallways and soldiers with blades drawn rushed hither and yon. Sweat slicked their frightened faces. Something was afoot, wasn’t right. Something dangerous.
“What’s happening? What’s going on?”
“There’s still one lurking in the manor, a Turned.”
A scream from two maybe three floors up and a directionless group of Neveren’s bundled up the nearest marble stairwell. Two were immediately punched down onto the landing, the tops of their headless necks the same bloody colour as the capes they wore. Neverens guarded the King whenever he was in residence. Perhaps I was going to meet the King. He’d better bow.
There followed the unmistakable ringing sound of many swords drawing at once.
“East wing,” a soldier screamed. “It’s making for the east wing. It’s gone through the wall.”
There was so much confusion I felt giddy where I stood just trying to watch every disparate group as they rushed around. “It has them ragged,” I observed. I put a foot on the bottom step and looked up but could see nothing save the thick tributary of blood the headless corpses had spilled on their way down.
“They’ll catch it. We must leave the hunt to them for we have a different but no less important assignment. Come. Flendin the Blade please follow me.”
We went by secret route for it passed through obscure doorways hidden in solid looking bookcases and all the time we travelled we could hear echoes of the fight going on around the great house.
The Turned must’ve killed dozens of people already and yet more soldiers would have to die to bring it down for it had immense stamina and continued rampaging through the sprawling building apace.
“This one doesn’t know when it’s beaten.”
“Is it beaten?” It didn’t sound like it to me. This Turned was causing too much chaos to be on the losing end of a fight.
“The doors are being rolled down. Soon it will have nowhere to fly to. It will be trapped, cornered.”
“That could be when it gets really dangerous. Have you ever cornered a desperate man before?”
“But of course.”
“Then you should be more worried and less optimistic.”
“You are surprisingly thoughtful for a thief.”
“I’m surprisingly a lot of things. Look, where are you taking me? I don’t feel too safe with some Turned just the other side of the passageway running amok.”
“We’re here,” said Jakolbot and he reached for a small brass lever that was ratcheted and it clicked when he pulled at it.
A secret door slid open before us and we stepped into a circular room. Dark and depressing it was and I felt my heart sink into my stomach when I realised what lay on a slab in the centre of the room. It’d been a human, once, only now it was pulled apart and unrecognisable. Cowled servants ground at the body with large, lung shaped stones, turning flesh to pulp and bone to dust and there was artificial speed to their labour. I knew that it must be the loose Turned that hurried them.
A disembodied voice cooed from the darkness at the rear of the room and I shivered in response. It sounded like the belly of a snake skimming through the grass. Quiet yet distinct and potentially dangerous. It said, “Thank you Jakolbot for persevering and bringing me the thief. You may go now.”
Like damp in a graveyard the voice set a sensation down my spine and I tried harder to look but couldn’t see anyone there.
The Captain bowed before he left. When the main door to the room opened orange torchlight rushed in and I squinted hard to see right to the back where the shadows were darkest. Again I saw no one there.
The door banged shut and I heard the lock turn with a heavy clunk. Such theatrics, why had I been taken the secret back ways when there was so obviously a main route? Maybe to hide from the Turned. It had to be.
“Flendin the Dark move closer to the slab.”
I did as bid. I would be compliant, at least until I understood who or what I was up against. “What’s going on?” I demanded to know. “There’s a Turned here that if not checked will be in this room.”
“I know. But fear not for the Neverens will kill it.”
To mind came the image of the two Roses hurled headless down the stairs. “How can you be so sure? They seem ineffective so far.”
“So speaks the mind of man given less than half the picture.”
“Then give me all of it.” I was feeling angry. The unseen Turned I feared. Its whereabouts were still unknown though I could hear it rampaging through the manor.
Around me the servants continued reducing the body to bits. They worked singularly on that and nothing seemed to distract them, even me shouting, and not once did they look up from their grisly task. I know for I watched them intently, warily.
“That seems a fair request compared to what I will ask of you.” Finally a figure moved out from the darkness. Small, shrivelled, and round-shouldered it hobbled out on a stick curved like the face of a bow. “I am Chancellor Haven and tonight there’s been a strike to the very heart of the Kingdom. Six Turned have stormed the King’s residence, their remit to steal his dead body,” a prune wrinkled hand extended, gestured towards the cadaver on the slab.
“The King?” I gushed. I couldn’t believe it. “The King is dead?” I guessed he wouldn’t be bowing to me after all. “Who killed the King?”
“I don’t know. Secret assassins, for he had many enemies. Or rather the thing which paraded as the King did.”
“What are you doing to him?” I understood that grief could unhinge the mind but what madness had gripped these people that they should be desecrating the King? Reducing the great man to crude chunks and memories, what must surely be just minutes after his passing. He should be honoured. He should be. My brain eventually caught up with current affairs and I asked, “What thing? What do you mean thing?”
Haven waved his stick around his head the way a man irritated by a fly would. I guessed I was the fly. “We haven’t time for questions and answers save to say I am privy to some dark truths. Towards the end of his life the King was not real but a shapeshifter, a creature of dangerous origins. This Golem, Tracker Hunger, has been stood waiting in the royal gardens, waiting and protecting the thing pretending to be the King. For reasons I don’t understand this Golem now wants the remains, to what end I cannot guess. I have facilitated a great evil. Help me put things right.”
“I’m expected to believe all this?” I buzzed.
Again stick waving in my face. “The death Tracker is coming for him. He will be here soon and we cannot let him claim a piece of the body, not a single piece. Do you hear me Flendin the Blade?”
I nodded unenthusiastically. I heard the Chancellor but I didn’t understand him. Nothing made sense. Turned being seen after years of isolation. Unknown assailants killing the King. Turned wanting bits of the body. None of it made sense.
The Chancellors tone became darker. “I want you to take the King and go as far away as possible. Find somewhere distant, remote, and bury him away from prying eyes. No one is to follow you. No one is to know of your charge for if you are discovered you will jeopardise not only the future of Never but of the world too.”
“You’ve picked the wrong man,” I spat vehemently. I didn’t care for the King, the future, for others or even the world. This was too much for me. I loathed responsibility, it explained why I lived the life I did. “I can’t do that. I won’t do it. Protest as much as you want. Throw your stick, pull at your hair and scream but I’m not going anywhere, Chancellor. Get one of your red-cloaked puppets to do the fetching and the carrying. I’m going back to my streets where I belong.”
“You can and you must do it. I would rather put my trust in a Neveren than a thief but they’re too innocent, too gullible. You are wily and strong. You can move unseen and you are ruthless. All are qualities you will need to succeed.”
Haven had me wrong from the start because I just didn’t care. “Why should I do this?” I asked. “I’m vexed you drag me away from my streets to hurl this turd of a proposition at my feet. What do I owe you? What do I owe the city?”
Haven tapped his stick on the flagstone floor impatiently. I thought it could be a signal for a trap and checked all around me. Nothing doing for nothing happened.
“I’m glad you mention the city for you owe it everything,” Haven stated calmly. “She is the bosom you suckle greedily from. Without her there can be no Flendin the Blade. They’d be no alleys to pad, no barred door to unlock. They’d be no gold to take from a sleeping man’s bed side and no glory in exasperating the watch. If that’s not reason enough then think about this; armed with the King’s bloody remains unseen forces can perpetrate vile magic. Their attention has been drawn to our part of the world and they look upon us with envy. They’ll stop at nothing short of war. They will conquer us.”
“You’re trying to scare me.”
“I’m not. But you should be scared anyway.” Haven took an awkward step towards me. His stick tapped the hard floor with an abrupt click. I was beginning to hate that bloody stick of his.
“Accept this task,” he implored. “Finally accept responsibility and help the city you’ve raped for so many years. Take the bones and go far away with them. I don’t know why the Turned curse want our King only that they do. Frustrate them, take the bones and hide them at the ends of the world or find some permanent way to destroy them.”
Part of me wanted to physically hurt the Chancellor in defiance of his wily plans. It was all too convenient to declare me the city’s last hope, to send me on my merry way to oblivion. I’d been a problem to his administration, to his watch, for a long time and this was an excellent opportunity to get rid of me once and for all.
But what if he was right and Never faced an unknown jeopardy? I’d not much of a conscience but that which I bore was horrified at what could happen to the only world I’d ever known.
There came the slightest timbre of a rattle and the room swayed almost imperceptibly. Haven looked up at me beneath his bushy grey brows and he looked scared. This was a different kind of trouble now. The manor had moved subtly on its deep foundation and I noticed the servants stopped working and turned anxiously to face the locked door. What was it? What new evil was coming for us now?
“He’s coming,” the Chancellor reported a point of fact and again the room shook, validating his statement.
I thought I heard something too, at the very edge of my hearing. “Is that thunder?” I wondered.
“No,” said Haven desperately, “it is the hammer strike of his footfalls. He’s coming. Do this for the city. Do this for yourself. Take the King’s remains and fly.”
Again the room shook only this time cracks appeared on the floor and I felt my legs sway drunkenly beneath me. I reached out just in time to catch the Chancellor before he fell over.
“Don’t let him take the King,” he said as I helped straighten him. The old fool hit my shins with the end of his stick, prompting me to go.
“I’ll bury the King somewhere distant, but then I’m coming back. This is my city and it’s where I belong.” Would I live to regret my decision? Probably. But at this moment, with the building shaking, the air booming around me with the advent of some as yet unseen evil, and the Chancellors eyes loath to look anywhere else but at me, imploringly, I thought it the only call to make.
Haven clapped his hands together and the servants immediately and as one turned to face him. “Bag up the remains. Hurry, hurry, before it’s too late,” he spurred.
This time the room shook and never ceased and a roar like tumbling rivers filled my head and Haven threw out his arm holding the stick to steady himself with. “Take the bag, Flendin the Blade. Take it and go.”
The servants were still rushing to load up all the bits of the King. A bone rolled off the slab unnoticed but I saw it for I was watching them work, willing them to hurry, and I bent to pick it up. I dropped it in the bag and pulled it closed. He was all in there. “What of the Turned?” I had to shout to be heard above the crash of the slamming footsteps and in just standing still I was moving back because of the vibrations. Cracks appeared along the walls. I couldn’t hear them rend but saw them splitting open all around me.
“My Neverens have killed five already. The sixth will be dead soon if not already. It was he who killed the King, I’m sure of it. Jakolbot.” Haven screamed the Captain’s name. I could barely hear it and I was stood close to the Chancellor, so I was surprised when the door swung juddering open and the Captain beckoned me with a crooked arm.
I swung the bag over my shoulder and cast a final look at Haven. The old man toppled over and his servants rushed to right him. I thought I heard him shout at me, telling me to go.
Jakolbot grabbed me, pulled me to his mouth. “At the end of the corridor is an open window. Go through it onto a roof with a gradual slope. Come off the roof and drop onto the ground. Carry on in the same direction. Get out of Never. Get as far away from here as you can.”
“What of the Turned?” I needed to know if that thing was still a threat or not.
“What?” He couldn’t hear me.
My ears were humming with pain now, my head felt fit to burst with the deep quaking of Hunger’s footfalls.
“Have you killed the Turned?” I screamed.
Jakolbot shook his head. “Sorry. Not yet.”
Resigned to failing I started down the corridor. Plaster folded off the walls as I was thrown one side to the other like some ball travelling down a drainpipe. The window described was dead ahead and I crawled through it onto the roof the whole time trying to right myself in a world of violent shakes and tremors. Old roof tiles slipped from under me, rattled down the incline to smash on the ground many feet below and I thanked the stars above I was blessed with the grip of a monkey.
Then I saw it and I froze where I stood and held my breath less it escape in a loud gasp and betray me.
Stood in a hunter’s position against the black of the night was the King killing Turned. It was on the roof opposite me, patrolling in the same direction Captain Jakolbot had urged me to take. It must have crawled out from a similar window to the one I had and it, like me, was scanning the night for opportunities.
Another thunderous clap and the Tracker inched closer to the manor and this time I was almost rocked off the roof with the force of his approach.
No time for hesitation. I had to go now or eventually I would lose my hold and fall to my death.
I reaffirmed my grip on the bag. It was a precious cargo and something I couldn’t let go of. I counted to three slowly in my head, I don’t know why, and ran in the opposite direction to the Turned.
It never made a sound as it tore after me and the only time I knew it was close was when I heard the zip of many arrows flying about my head. Haven’s Neverens must have spied the Turned and trained their bows upon it.
The arrows passed so close they hummed like bees and I thought it a matter of time before I would get hit. I felt one strike the bag, heard a crack like popping porcelain as it struck bone but I never slowed, never stopped moving once.
I jumped a modest gap between two buildings and this new roof pitch was steeper than the other and my legs quickened to compensate and I started running faster. More arrows loosed from hidden bows and I felt sure one or two of the darts must have struck their target for next time I chanced a look behind the Turned was gone, fallen to its doom with its heart pierced I hoped.
Boom! Another footstep and the roof moved beneath my pounding feet and I faltered, my legs nearly collecting in a heap beneath me. Somehow I managed to keep my balance but, unable to check my speed or alter course, the end of the roof came suddenly in sight and I screamed.
I left the sprawling rooftop, fell down, hit the hat wearing head of the Golem, landed on my feet and carried on running. The Tracker moved to give sluggish chase but I’d slipped into a side alley and was gone. No one could find me in the alleys at night. Not even Turned.
I was about to leave the city for the first time in my life and I carried with me a responsibility of the greatest magnitude. Suffice to say I wasn’t happy with the prospect of either.
––––––––
“I had to leave the city unseen and immediately otherwise I’d have come looking for you Ordesky.”
Ordesky smiled a resigned smile. “I know,” he said. “I understand now. I’m just glad you’ve come back.”
“Quite a story Flendin but what’s the next move?” During my story telling Evin had moved behind the bar to pour some chilled beer into a jug. From it she filled six stone cups.
I raised my cup in a gesture of good health and brought the frothy headed beverage to my mouth, savouring the strong smell before I took a mighty gulp. Everyone helped themselves to a cup, save Bent who never seemed to refresh.
“It wasn’t me. I didn’t kill the King.” Bent was emphatic.
“I believe you over Haven anytime,” I replied, when really I wasn’t sure who to believe. Haven was a politician so lied all the time and Bent was a Turned. Bent, I’d sooner trust Bent. “It’s nearly morning. I’ve got to break into Tambroite but I’ll wait until night to do so,” I said, taking another greedy gulp. The beer was sweet and strong, its taste lingered in my mouth. I wiped my lips dry with the back of my hand before I continued. “I’ve got to confront Chancellor Haven and find out why the Neverens haven’t been outside since the Turned attacked weeks ago.” It had been Haven who had summoned me the night the King had been killed by Turned. It had been Haven who had been instrumental in having the King’s body opened and dissected for easy transportation and it had been Haven who had been one step ahead of me, Hunger and anyone and anything else involved in the whole sorry mess. There was more to the humble Chancellor than met the eye. There had to be.
While I thought of it I pulled the map from my pocket and unfurled it noisily. “A friend gave me this,” I lied. “Anything any of you can add to it?” I asked looking over at Bent. When he didn’t reply I added, “I noticed something interesting here, over to the west. The Maw or whatever it says. Heard of that anyone?”
Still nothing.
“Could be a safe place for disposing of that,” I pointed at the King’s remains. Again nothing, just blank faces exchanging vacant looks.
“Any ideas would be helpful right about now,” I said assertively and once again nothing.
“Perhaps we should deal with Hunger first,” Bent finally piped up.
I knew he was correct, that was the immediate threat after all; the bastard Golem. I was just hoping one of them had some knowledge of the world outside from Never and could tell me how or even where to dispose of the cursed bag. Somewhere safe. Somewhere hidden.
“Right, Hunger will be coming for the bag,” I cautioned. “He’s slow moving but he’ll get here soon. Reckon it’ll be the south gate he comes through, if he’s been following me since Black Pots. We’ve got to be alert for other Turned too. There’s more than just The Terrant here, I know that for a fact for I saw one near the gaol house. That thing on the tower is calling to them so we’ve got to think of a way to kill it quickly. Bent and Smidgen are with me on that task. It’ll be up to us three to kill it. We’ll rest the remainder of the night then go out and kill it in the morning. Rauper and Nice, I want you two to get out there in the streets, see about recruiting help. If more Turned enter the city it’ll be everyman for himself when it shouldn’t be. We’ll have to unify and work as an army if we stand a chance of repelling them, so we gotta get people on our side.” I folded the map up and pocketed it.
“Shouldn’t be a problem,” said Nice. “They seemed pleased enough to see you when you came home.”
“Yes, but there was no personal risk to them then.”
“What do you want me to do, Flendin?”
I turned to Evin, held her with both hands. “Keep safe,” I said.
Bent sensed her disappointment and said, “she can come with us.”
“No, stay here Evin. Keep the tavern safe. We need a base and this is as good as any. Smidgen, I feel I shouldn’t have to say it but I’ll say it anyway. Keep the bag close. Guard it with your life.”
“Yes, Flendin. I promise.”
“Now let’s get out there. We’ve all got something to do.”
Those with objectives made for the door.
“How do we know we can trust him though?” said Rauper, mumbling to himself.
I’d been riding with Bent for weeks now and I still didn’t, not properly. I kept those thoughts to myself though.