Puk immediately stiffened. The voice was raspy, croaking. A throat throttled by age.
The doll could not speak, so Puk did not speak.
Or could it speak, but hadn’t wanted to speak to him?
He swore internally.
He also refrained from turning to face the mage, who then addressed him again.
“You know I don’t like my tea until well after I’ve awoken. All your racket stirred me.”
Shit, Puk cursed. Why did this fuckin’ guy have the kettle all set up and ready to go so early? Hasn’t he heard of procrastination?
“Face me,” said Kleus. “Why are you just standing there?”
Shit. His one recurring thought throughout this entire operation.
He glanced down at the tea. The water had slightly browned from the leaves, now more of an amber color.
“Vosk,” said Kleus authoritatively. “Turn around.”
Deep down, Puk had known it would come to this. The plan was faulty from the start.
He was no burglar.
He was no Vosk.
He was Puk, a failed musician.
But he had hoped the ruse would last a little longer than half a minute, at least.
Puk turned, and his eyes widened at Kleus Saix’s appearance. The mage’s did likewise upon seeing the qarm.
Kleus had to be somewhere in his fifties, though his voice had aged faster than his body. His skin was tan and wrinkled, deep creases up and down his arms and face. The platinum white hair of his jeornish people was absent from his head, either shaved clean or long since fallen out. He stood slightly hunched in the doorway of the kitchen, wearing a long, velvet red robe cinched tight around his skinny waist.
What had startled Puk was the man’s scars.
Ustrel symbols carved themselves into the flesh of mages when they cast spells, and depending on the type and severity of the magic, sometimes it was harder for them to fade. Red magic, being the most volatile and earth-shattering of all the magical disciplines, had mottled Kleus’s flesh.
Scars covered the man from head to foot. Every piece of skin Puk could see was scarred, white fibrous symbols covering up his darker skin with years of magical abuse. In many places, new symbols had been recently carved, leaving behind cuts and scabs.
And what had startled Kleus were Puk’s stupid, bulbous eyes.
“Who in the hell are you?” the man demanded. “What did you do to Vosk?”
“Okay, well, the—”
Puk was interrupted by his arms and legs snapping to his side. He stood stiff as a plank, his breathing beleaguered as anxiety gripped him.
He was about to attempt talking himself out of the very bad situation he suddenly found himself in, but swiftly realized he had far bigger concerns: his flesh was melting together.
His arms and legs somehow sifted through the layers of clothing he wore, pressing hard against his body until they started melding. He tried to let out a scream, but his lips had fused together as well. A stinging sensation prickled through the length of his body as his limbs morphed into one lump of flesh, and he fell onto the ground, unable to keep himself upright. The big, useless hat tumbled off his head and under the nearby table.
The mage ambled over to where Puk lay prostrate like a slug. He pressed his heel to Puk’s back and rolled the qarm over so that he could look up toward his captor.
Puk blinked his stupid eyes stupidly at Kleus.
The man said, “I’m going to unbind your mouth. Before I do, I want you to understand that I can kill you in an instant, and I have no qualms about doing so. The only reason you are not already dead is because I want answers from you. If you irritate me, though, I will kill you. Are we clear on that?”
Well, this does not bode well for me.
Puk nodded, his cheek scraping against the floor.
With that, Kleus gestured with his hands and the flesh of Puk’s lips began to tear apart.
“Can’t say I care too much for how my body feels right now,” said Puk, smacking his lips to get some feeling back in them. A chill ran down his spine; he could still feel his arms and legs, but was unable to move them. It was an unpleasant and unsettling sensation.
Kleus mercifully ignored the quip and asked, “Where is Vosk? Did you kill him?”
“He’s up watching the sun. He’s fine. I just took his clothes.”
The mage eyed him suspiciously, but accepted his answer for now. “Why are you here, sneaking into my home? As you’ve no doubt realized, I’ve gone through great lengths to ensure I do not receive any visitors. This is most unwelcome.”
Puk wasn’t sure what the right move was. Would it be detrimental to simply state the truth, that he wanted to steal Malum? Was there even a believable lie he could churn out if he wanted to?
“I’m here for your red magic book,” he decided to say.
The longer he talked, the longer he stayed alive.
The longer he stayed alive, the more time he had to concoct a new plan. Hopefully one less catastrophic than the first.
His response made Kleus laugh. A bitter, amazed laugh.
“So, they’ve finally tracked me down?” the man muttered. Puk didn’t know who he meant, but he went on. “Those shitbrained High Mages figured out where I was and sent you after me?” He let out another barking laugh. “I knew they’d never give up the hunt, but…I admit, I thought their hunters would be a bit more formidable.”
Puk shifted on the floor. He did not appreciate being a slug. He also did not appreciate this old, battered mage cackling over him.
“Yeah, well,” Puk mumbled, “what can ya do?”
Kleus quietened himself and took a seat at his table. He would have been out of sight if not for Puk’s ability to twist his stalks to track the man.
“Where are the High Mages now?” Kleus asked.
“Not sure,” Puk said. Lying was coming naturally now that he had stumbled into a scenario that Kleus could buy into. “They sent me in ahead of them to try stealin’ the book, keepin’ it simple and clean. Said if I don’t come back, they would storm the place. Cause a ruckus.”
“Well, I’m not going to hand the book over,” said Kleus, “so it seems there’s no real difference between holding you hostage and simply killing you, right? Either way, they’ll be coming.”
Shit.
“I guess you’re right,” said Puk.
Not his best piece of improvisation. Vick would be ashamed.
Kleus laughed, a nasty, phlegmy sound. He said, “You know, this development has riled me up, I must say. The blood’s pumping. Maybe I will have that tea to soothe my nerves a bit.” He gestured again, and the red wooden chair beside Puk morphed itself into a cage that housed the qarm on the floor. As if he would get anywhere fast in his current form.
Oh shit! Puk thought gleefully, pleased his plan was finally spurring into action, before remembering he was now a slug-person.
Kleus stepped past the debilitated Puk and picked the mug up off the countertop. It was still steaming.
He gingerly blew on it, then said to Puk, “It amuses me seeing you like this. It’s been so long since I’ve done it to somebody, you know. Hiding myself away in here was vital, but it does feel lonely sometimes. Thank you for bringing me some entertainment. And thank you for the tea, though I’m sorry your charade did not fool me like you’d hoped.”
“No problem,” said Puk, eyeing the mug. Waiting to see what happened.
“I take it your simple brain thought that a convincing disguise, and you fancied distracting me with tea and perhaps my early morning read while you searched for the book, impersonating Vosk?”
“That about sums it up, yeah.”
“A pity it didn’t work out for you.”
“A real pity,” Puk agreed.
“Of course, you might as well die. I have no need for you, and it’d be as simple as a flick of the wrist.”
“Naturally.” He tried making his anxiousness not so apparent in his tone. It was diffic
ult not feeling anxious when one’s arms and legs retracted into their body. Nearly impossible.
Drink the fucking tea, he thought.
“And one more thanks to you again, for alerting me about the High Mages’ upcoming assault. I should have ample time to prepare now. Knowing they’re on their way, it should not be terribly difficult to mount a defense. Just more flicks of the wrist, really.”
“Happy to help.”
Kleus blew on his hot tea again. Puk thought more rambling might follow, but the man had evidently said his piece.
He took a wary sip and then, deeming the temperature adequate, gulped down more.
Puk watched as the man’s face puckered up, that foul sweetness of the spit finally hitting his tongue. It was immediately obvious that something was wrong with the tea.
“Whun—?” Kleus asked, which was not a question.
Kleus took a step backward, slipping on nothing and collapsing to the floor. He mumbled nonsense to himself, each word getting louder and louder, which Puk could not help but giggle at.
At least that part of the plan had worked.
What Puk had not anticipated, however, was whatever gesture Kleus was making with his hand before he fully slid into unconsciousness. Plus, he was still a slug-person, which was far from ideal and put a huge damper on the rest of the plan and his life in general.
“Shit,” he finally got to say aloud.
The mage was still spouting gibberish, but his words grew softer and softer until they eventually ceased. Puk watched his eyelids flutter shut.
Silence, but for Puk’s haggard breaths. The room was still. Until it wasn’t.
The chair-cage enclosing Puk suddenly burst into splinters that rained down on him. He closed his eyes so as to not be blinded. He then felt a bubbling on his sides, an intense vibration in his flesh. His arms and legs began to re-form, oozing out from his abdomen.
Disgust quickly faded and he was instead awash with relief. He wanted to scream to the heavens, he wanted to get down on his knees and pray, he wanted to kiss the next person he saw. But the next person he saw was Kleus, and that feeling instantly dissipated.
He spied fresh, deep markings on the man’s hands from the two spells he had cast, still dripping with blood. For a second, Puk wondered why those two spells had been broken by the man losing consciousness while the illusion of the home hadn’t.
But he dismissed the thought, not wanting to waste any precious time trying to parse the various qualities of red magic. He chalked it up to the scars not having yet settled on the flesh. A good enough explanation for his simple brain.
It was then that Puk was cognizant enough to notice a swirling vortex of dark, cool colors floating by the stovetop, and he remembered Kleus had actually cast a third spell as he tottered to the floor.
Rich blues and purples and greens twisted and shimmered, a surreal sight, which Puk could not understand how he had previously missed. His stomach sunk at the thought of what spell the mage might have cast.
He needed the book.
Now.
No one besides Puk was stupid enough to drink raw cordol spit, so there was no frame of reference for how long Kleus would be knocked out. There was also no telling what the beautiful, horrific vortex was about to do or produce.
He needed to act fast and get the hell out of Pontequest. Thankfully, Bella would have a load of energy stored up and ready to exert. Their party being cooped up in Paul’s storage room would soon pay off.
It didn’t help, though, that he didn’t have a clue what the book looked like.
He darted out of the kitchen and twisted his stalks in every direction, until he landed on a single towering shelf over in the corner.
The shelf held various items. There were multiple jars of unidentified liquids, packets of dried herbs and cured meats, golden sculptures, and much more, but what interested Puk was the pile of books resting on the bottom shelf.
If they had been even three rows higher, it would have presented a problem for the short qarm.
But they were well within reach, so Puk dashed toward the shelf and tossed all the books onto the floor so that he could read their covers. All of which, he then discovered, were blank.
He dared a glance behind him, rotating a single stalk around to eye the kitchen, and was met with some disgusting, otherworldly creature slithering out from the vortex Kleus had summoned in his final moments.
The creature’s front half was similar to that of a human man, though its skin was a pale blue and riddled with spiderwebs of oozing cuts all over its flesh. Wispy white hair hung in clumps from its misshapen head, hanging past the yellow orbs of its eyes. Its mouth hung open abnormally wide, with countless rows of tiny, razor-sharp teeth.
The back half of it was no better. Just past the monster’s pus-filled bellybutton, its flesh turned dark and scaly, coming to form a point at its end.
It swiveled its head around, the bones in its neck cracking with every movement, searching for the prey it had been summoned to hunt.
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Puk sputtered, panicking even more.
The heart attack was coming, he was sure of it.
He flipped open each book to a random page, and every single one was a spellbook of some kind. All of the language and symbols were foreign to him. Nothing distinguished a Fire spell from a Turn A Man Into A Slug spell in his mind.
“Fuck it.”
He slammed the books shut and gathered them all in his hands. One of them had to be Malum. They could let Haratti figure out which and throw the other three in the trash.
The sound of him closing the books alerted the snake-monster to his presence. It loosed another ear-splitting scream, its voice shrill and wet, and it darted toward him. The yellow eyes gleamed hungrily.
The monster shuffled hastily over Kleus’s unconscious body, aiming for the small qarm.
Puk, with his one free hand, grasped the bookshelf he’d plundered and attempted to knock it over to delay the monster’s charge, but it was too heavy. He swore loudly and raced forward, toward the metal door back out onto the engineering deck.
But the snake-man could move much faster than Puk’s stout qarmish legs could carry him.
It coiled itself then sprung into the air, crashing into Puk’s back, sending him sprawling onto the ground. He managed to keep ahold of the books, slamming his stomach into them as he landed on the ground, winding him.
The creature’s clammy palms pressed against his back, its sharp, broken fingernails digging into the doll’s coat. Vibrations rippled through the floor as it gleefully slapped its tail against the ground, happy to have caught its snack.
Dagger, Puk thought to himself. His mind could not presently formulate more than a single word.
He wriggled his arms out from underneath his torso and elbowed the monster in what he assumed was its face. It let out a screech but did not loosen its grip on his coat.
The creature then bit down, its teeth tearing into the thick fabric but not breaking through to Puk’s flesh. He was silently thankful for Vosk’s insane fashion choice, which had undeniably just saved his life.
He struggled to reach his hand into the pocket containing Kali’s dagger. It was difficult maneuvering his limbs with the snake-man writhing around on top of him, but it was too heavy for him to shove off.
After a few agonizing moments (during which the monster continued feasting on Vosk’s now-mangled coat), Puk successfully grabbed the hilt of the weapon and pulled it free of the pocket, conveniently leaving the sheath behind as well.
At his current angle, the dagger’s blade was pointing upward into the air, so he swung his arm backward, nearly popping it out of its socket, and jabbed the blade into the monster’s arm.
It screamed again, the only noise it knew how to make, and flopped off of Puk like a floundering fish.
Puk scrambled to his feet while he had the opportunity and stared down his attacker. Its eyes were slits, glaring at the weapon embedded in its arm
as it roared, and Puk briefly considered grabbing the books and fleeing then and there. It was the easiest option.
He would be pursued, though. Of that he had no doubt.
If the beast didn’t merely kill him and return to its master before he even had a chance to escape the ship, it might also reach Kali and kill her.
“Fuck me,” he groaned, knowing he had to put a stop to it or die trying. Most likely the latter.
Puk hopped forward and grabbed the dagger’s hilt again, immediately being flung backward by the monster. But it was enough momentum for the weapon to slide out of its arm, and Puk was careful enough in his rough landing to not stick himself with it.
Before he had a chance to rise again, the snake-man was charging toward him.
He sat up, his back against the bookshelf. His eyes widened as the monster grew nearer, its rank mouth open wide and eager.
Without thinking, Puk held the dagger straight ahead of him then remained still.
The snake-man had already built up too much momentum to stop itself in time and careened face-first into the blade, which pierced one of its yellow, yolky eyes.
It instantly slumped to the ground, its head smashing into Puk’s right leg. He let out a yelp of pain, though he was relieved to see the monster lying motionless.
Kleus was still fast asleep on the kitchen floor when Puk pushed past the metal door back out onto the engineering deck. He turned and raced up the stairway, banging his shoulders against the walls as he clumsily ascended. He gripped the collection of books tight to his chest, pressing them against the torn, ooze-covered green coat he still wore.
Spit and Song (Ustlian Tales Book 2) Page 37
