by R Mountebank
Chapter 17
Acceptance
Kyron Bell had expected her. The giant in golden armour smiled when he saw Mary awkwardly standing on the threshold to his holdings.
"Our latest find, ladies and gentlemen!" he roared with his confident voice, one hand pointing in her direction. "Our very own berserker from the emerald isle, with a touch of the wolf no doubt! Best our enemies lock up their sons and gather their spears!"
Dangerous men, women and beasts lounging in the circular room howled in approval. Kyron Bell stood from his simple wooden throne and strode across the room, arms held wide and a grin on his handsome face. Mary blushed at the attention. She flushed a deeper scarlet when the imposing man bent down and hugged her fiercely.
"What took you so long? I thought you'd be here days ago?"
Mary was unable to meet his eyes and looked down as she admitted, "They did throw me in prison for a while."
"Like any dungeon could hold you!" Bell exclaimed as he nudged Mary in the shoulder. "There are just a few teensy, tiny little words to say, then you're in," he said leaning in and whispering loudly.
Mary nodded her head. Kyron flashed her a toothsome smile then beckoned her closer. Mary obliged, feeling reluctant and also slightly exhilarated at the welcome invitation to join this band of looters.
Kyron bell said in a loud voice, "I, Mary Horn, swear to do whatever Kyron Bell says to do."
Mary rolled her eyes and sighed out the words, "I, Mary Horn, swear to do whatever Kyron Bell says to do."
The giant red man put a cupped hand to his ear. "Sorry. What?"
"I, Mary, will do whatever Kyron Bell tells me to do," she said with more gusto.
"One more time, sorry," he said, raising a finger.
"I'll do whatever you tell me to, I swear!" shouted Mary.
Kyron clapped his hands together three times, a big goofy grin on his face. Mary wasn't sure but sparks seemed to fly when his hands met.
"Excellent! Come and meet your fellow adventurers, Mary," said Bell as he took Mary’s elbow and escorted her into the hall. "They're excited to welcome you properly."
The adventurers didn't seem at all excited. They regarded her through half-lidded eyes, bored and unchanging expressions on their faces. They lounged amongst low-set tables on fat cushions and exotic carpets that covered every inch of the floor and some of the walls. Tobacco smoke hung heavy in the air, and Mary was disturbed to see that many were into their cups as they polished and cleaned an array of weapons, including modern firearms.
"Now Miss Horn... Mary. May I call you Mary? Of course I can. I can do whatever I like! I'm the boss and you're the not-boss," rumbled Kyron as he steered her past snoozing adventurers sprawled out on cushions.
"I must formally introduce you to my closest lieutenants. My inner circle, if you will. Do you have a head for names? Well, too bad if you don't. Remember these. If any names you ever needed to remember, it’s these devious bastards."
He stopped in front of a table close to his throne, at which sat the upper hierarchy. With one hand on Mary’s shoulder, he gestured with the other. "This leopard-looking fellow is Heronitas, my middle eastern expert."
Mary recognised the leopard from her day of waiting tables. He was the one with the short temper. Heronitas regarded her with a haughty scowl, one clawed hand drawing circles in the spilt ale on the table.
"The fellow next to him is Theotan, a bugbear of outstanding repute. He's in a class above those dreadful dolts who watch the doors and do all the heavy lifting."
Kyron leaned closer and whispered in Mary’s ear. "Made of only the finest donated hair that boy. He's something like a son to all of us. He deals mainly in objects created by the fair folk or their cousins."
Theotan nodded his head respectfully to Mary. He was dressed in ornate bronze armour that was made of overlapping segments that looked like the petals of a lotus flower. Dark symbols were engraved in fine patterns along the seams and joints. The clay on his face and hands seemed much smoother and in better condition than the other bugbears Mary had seen in the shop. He exuded the most exquisite aroma of flowers and herbs.
"Ah! The illustrious Iona!" exclaimed Kyron pointing to a dark woman with scaly skin. "When people say that poison is a woman's game they are obviously talking about fair Iona. A master alchemist’s best friend!"
Iona rolled her eyes and gave Mary a smile. Kyron bellowed on.
"Rare ingredients are her game and no better player there is! Ah! And here is my good friend VaynWingspur, our resident expert on all things martial."
Kyron indicated the woman sitting beside Iona. She sat hunched on a chair, ridiculously large wings bunched behind her. Long feathers crested her head like hair and shorter plumage ran down the back of her arms, which ended in bird like talons. She reminded Mary of an eagle, proud, all knowing and deadly. Vayn eyed Mary like a bird of prey would regard a mouse. Mary quickly looked away.
"And last but certainly not least is Jeremy Ballard, our trusted spy master. He is something of a bibliophile too. Don't let his bookish, dowdy appearance fool you. Oh no. Jeremy is one of the worst. By worst I mean deadliest. After me of course..."
Jeremy sat at the end of table by himself with an almost hostile look on his face as he listened to Kyron. The man looked to be in his sixties, greying on top with deeply creased wrinkles forming over his face. He seemed fairly plain and almost human – until one of his wrinkles cracked open on his cheek to reveal a dark, bloodshot eye. Mary flinched at the ghastly sight. Jeremy smiled at her discomfort and, pausing to wink one of his normal eyes, opened the rest. Altogether he had three extra eyes, one on each cheek and another in the middle of his forehead. He wore an unassuming grey robe that was cinched with crossed bandoliers filled with ammunition. Pieces of a disassembled gun were scattered over a stack of charts and maps. Ignoring Mary and Kyron now, he bowed his head to consult the charts as he cleaned and reassembled the gun.
"So these are my most trusted comrades. Treat any order they give as one of mine. Unless I've explicitly told you otherwise of course. I am the boss after all! Ha ha!"
Mary nodded mutely, wondering if her new supervisor was always so inanely cheery. Kyron placed himself in front of Mary, smiled down at her with a confident grin, his red skin glowing orange in the yellow candlelight of the hall.
"You must have tonnes of questions, little one. Or not so little as the case may be, eh? So ask away."
Mary hesitated, her mind still reeling after meeting everyone and the warm greeting she had been given by Bell.
"Um... do I have to kill anyone?"
Kyron looked at her askance. "Leave the jokes to me, Mary Horn."
"I'm serious!" said Mary pouting. "I don't want to kill anybody. I'm not that desperate..."
Kyron shrugged, his smile evaporating. "It's all part of the job. We're treasure hunters and adventurers, not boy scouts out on a lark. People die in our line of work. Us. Them. What did you expect when you came here?"
Mary looked at her feet. "I don't know, sir. I was running out of ideas..."
"This one seems a bit meek to me, sir," cut in Heronitas. "Perhaps you were too eager to have a fairy changeling in our ranks."
Kyron snorted. "Did you not see her lay our master’s bodyguards to waste? She's got a fighter’s spirit in her and the talent to boot. She just needs a little confidence is all."
Heronitas crossed his arms and leaned back on his chair. "She beat the snot out of some unprepared watchdogs who were at breakfast, is what she did. Can she do that again? Out there where they won't hesitate to cut her throat?"
"You are too hard on the girl, Heronitas," spoke Iona softly. She had an accent that Mary couldn’t place, the vowels drawn out, the consonants clipped. "What were you capable of when you were her age? Pleasuring yourself more than twice a day?"
The table burst into laughter, including Heronitas. "I'd pleasure you more than twice daily if you gave me the chance," Heronitas snorted.
&
nbsp; Iona shook her head still laughing. "Dream on."
Mary's face went red and she looked down at the floor. Kyron placed a hand under her chin and tilted her head back up. "Stop looking down child. Cowardice is unbecoming on you."
He regarded her a moment, his big white eyes impossible to read. He dropped his hand and turned towards the hall, eyes searching. "Lonagan! Come over here!"
The slender dark elf that had so rudely sniffed Mary extricated himself from a shadowed corner and glided across the room on his long agile legs. He faced Kyron, still wearing his ridiculous leather collar.
"My lord calls?" he asked, his melodic voice slightly muffled.
Kyron pointed his massive fist at Mary. "This young woman is our latest recruit. I want you to show her the ropes, get her used to how things run around here."
Lonagan seemed taken aback. He looked at Mary, dark eyes full of scepticism, then back to Bell.
"My lord, are you sure I am the right one for this task? Are there no better teachers?"
Kyron glowered down at the slight elf.
"Did you just question my judgement?"
Kyron waited for an answer.
Lonagan looked at the floor and shook his head.
"I want you to show her the bloody ropes. And no, there are no better teachers, so buck up and get on with it."
Lonagan bowed stiffly. "I am yours to command."
Kyron sniffed. "Take her on the 'Spring Heel' job. That should be a nice easy one to sink her teeth into."
Lonagan shot Mary a dark look before looking back up at Kyron. "Is that not too dangerous for a first timer?"
Kyron's eyes flashed hotly; his teeth gnashed. "He's just some crackpot in a costume terrorising young ladies. Maybe you could, I don't know, use her as freaking bait in a freaking trap! Now get out of my sight and earn us some coin, you belligerent little elf. I've had enough of your lip."
Lonagan backed away a step or two before grabbing Mary’s arm and leading her away.
"And bring her back in one piece or by the maker I'll sell your pale hide to the light-elves!" bellowed Kyron after them as they passed through a door and into a long hallway lined with painted shields and other trophies of war.
"Where are you taking me?" asked Mary, panting at the brisk pace Lonagan set.
"To the bloody armoury."
"What's there?" asked Mary, her brain still reeling from the exchange.
Lonagan looked at her sceptically. "Weapons and armour. The tools of our trade."
Lonagan let go of her arm and quickened his pace. At the end of the hall stood two massive doors banded in studded metal. There appeared to be no handles or keyhole.
"Press this one then this one, then that one. Then these two together. Got it?" Lonagan said gruffly as he depressed the innocuous looking studs hidden in plain sight.
Mary didn't see a thing but couldn't be bothered telling him. The doors swung open easily to reveal a remarkable sight. Mary looked about in awe. The room was crammed full of weapons and armour of every description. From racks laden with swords, spears and axes to stands of arranged armour from various nations and differing styles; it was a room dedicated to violence and death.
Mary felt an odd mix of excitement and dread. She didn't want to kill anyone. She didn't want to die, either. Frying pan or the fire; Mary felt like she was dowsing herself in kerosene and flirting with both simultaneously. She knew that she wouldn't be able to back out now because of her feelings towards murder and death. Kyron and The Old Man had her right where they wanted her.
However, there was nothing saying that she had to kill someone, was there? All she had to do was avoid that particular chestnut. And buy her freedom while she was at it. And do it all before she transformed into god-knows-what. Mary decided she would play along, but by her rules only. She would be the 'loyal' adventurer for Kyron Bell but only because she desired her ultimate freedom. She would accept anything, do anything to earn that freedom, except murder or kill. Those were her only rules, no exceptions.
Mary looked again at the weapons gleaming in tight rows, razor sharp and deadly. A sword was only a tool was it not? It could be used defensively. It could save a life too. It all came down to the application.
Lonagan made his way towards a pile of derelict leather armour pieces and started sorting through the mess. Mary’s eyes were drawn to some suits of shining plate armour arranged on mannequins. They looked like the safest bet. Nothing could hurt her in one of those.
"This one looks like my size," she called out cheerily, one hand tapping the chest piece.
Lonagan looked over his shoulder.
"No good. Too heavy."
He resumed his search though the pile of tatty leather. Mary sighed and looked down the line of standing suits. Most were far too big for her, built for lumbering giants not teenage girls. She spotted a long mail hauberk that would probably fit her if it was tied at the waist with a belt. Casting a wary look at Lonagan, she carefully lifted the mail shirt, tongue sticking out with the effort. With a heave she lifted it over her head and wriggled in. The thing weighed a tonne. It pressed down on her shoulders and restricted the movement in her arms. She spun about in a circle and almost fell over as the momentum of the shirt kept on swinging.
Lonagan was looking at her, shaking his head. "I told you that stuff was no good... Unless you have the physique of a cage fighter under that tracksuit?"
Mary lifted it off her and dumped it on the ground. "Okay. What do you suggest then?"
Lonagan threw a scarred leather vest at her feet. "That."
Frowning, Mary picked it up. "This thing doesn't look like it could stop a wet towel."
"It will turn a blade if you're lucky and cushion your insides from a punch or a kick."
"But what if someone shoots at me?" asked Mary.
Lonagan crossed his arms and sat on the edge of a crate.
"A bullet will go through plate just as well as leather. The trick is not to be found. Something almost impossible to do in full armour."
"But is this it?" asked Mary whining. "One stupid vest?"
"I'll find you some vambraces and some greaves to go with it..." sighed Lonagan. "Just try the damn vest."
Mary slipped it over her head. It laced up along the sides with cord. Mary thumped her chest with a fist. It actually was quite firm and comfortable...
"What's next?"
"A weapon of some sort. What do you prefer?"
"I can fence a little..."
Lonagan got to his feet and strode across the room towards a weapons rack. Without a pause he retrieved a slim sword with a dull black enamel sheath. "A rapier should do the trick," he said, passing it to Mary.
Mary looked at the weapon in wonder, a feeling of excitement and trepidation coursing through her.
"Is it a magic sword?" she asked without thinking.
"Yes. It magically kills the bad guy when you stab him with it..."
Mary looked at her companion with a frown. "So it's a normal sword. No magic?"
"No magic. Just a normal sword."
Mary slid the sword out and tested a few swings and lunges.
"How's the weight?"
"It's a little heavier than I'm used to. I'll get used to it."
Lonagan shrugged and threw her a sheathed dirk. "Take that too."
Mary caught it and stuffed it down the back of her tracksuit. "How about a shield or something?"
"Ever used a shield or something?"
"Can't say that I have."
"Then no. Let's just keep it simple, eh? How about a side arm?"
Mary nodded distractedly, her eyes scanning the rest of the room for something to add to her dismal arsenal. She was beginning to get excited. It was like a sort of Christmas for psychos. Despite her better judgment she found herself desiring the biggest, nastiest gun she could find; she discovered deep in herself a reptilian brain function which sought peace through overwhelming firepower. A range of firearms caught her eye on th
e far wall. She skipped over and ran her hands along the impressive selection.
"Oh, yeah..."
She hefted up two automatic rifles and promptly began to pretend she was in an action film. She turned to Lonagan, barrels hot from annihilating imaginary Jerry. He shook his head and pointed back at the rack.
"Put those back."
"Just one?"
"Do you know how to use it?"
"No. But you could teach me?"
"I don't have time. We're going out tonight if you didn't notice. Now stop playing games. This is serious."
Mary sighed and returned the guns to their cradles. Lonagan went to a crate in the corner and sorted through a pile of antique pistols. Mary frowned and picked at the loose leather on the grip of her rapier.
"Ah. Here it is."
Lonagan held up the most ungainly, un-lethal looking pistol that anyone could ever have the misfortune of finding. The barrel was long and ended in a wide cone. The handle was made from what looked like worm-eaten swamp wood. Lonagan cocked open the chamber and looked down the barrel.
"Looks clean..."
He tossed it to Mary who caught it awkwardly with her free hand.
"What is it?"
"It's a one-of-a-kind prototype. Single shot, blunderbuss cross. Small gauge. Short distance. Made for someone who can't shoot very well. Good in a tight space. This has your name written all over it."
Mary looked at it in dismay.
"It looks like a piece of junk."
"Be that as it may, it's your piece of junk to own and cherish."
Mary looked at the meagre armaments she had been given, then at her companion’s. Lonagan had a collection of modern automatic machine pistols strapped to different parts of his body and a bevy of daggers and throwing knives sheathed on his belt. She didn't feel particularly confident in the huge disparity between her and him.
"When do I get to use the good stuff?"
"When you've proven yourself."
"You mean when I haven't blown my foot off or died?"
"Precisely."
"You don't have much faith in me do you?"
"None at all."
Mary looked at the floor, visions of painful death playing through her head. Did she really want to do this? Was it too late to back out? She shuddered as she shrunk an inch. Too down to care, she let her quirk run its course. Lonagan studied her a moment. A sly look seemed to bloom in his eyes.
"Leave this stuff here with me a moment. I want you to go to our tailor. I can't have you running around in some scruffy old tracksuit in the night. Go back down the way we came. Third door on your right."
Mary nodded and dumped her gear on the floor, ignoring the stern look Lonagan gave her on the way out. She shuffled down the hallway towards the tailor’s room. The door was slightly open. She knocked twice and then let herself in. Inside was a spacious well-lit room with a high ceiling. Bolts of material were stacked against the walls and in the centre stood a dozen mannequins of various shapes and builds. The mannequins were dressed in suits of darkened leather or plain material much like the outfit Lonagan wore. Mary touched one of the mannequins. The texture of the material was odd, rather flexible, slightly sticky – and strong. Mary had never seen anything like it before. Between her fingers, it felt like silk but much thicker.
"Exquisite, isn't it, my little thief?" asked a voice.
Mary dropped her hand guiltily and looked about her. There was no-one else in the room.
"I spun that myself. Some of my best work, if I do say so myself. Have you come to steal it?” called the creepy voice.
Mary still could not see anyone but she felt the voice getting nearer. She raised her hands and began to back away. "Um... I was only looking. Honest. I'm no thief."
"Pfft. You're all thieves. Every last one of you," scoffed the voice.
"Even that Kyron Bell is, though he would tell you otherwise. ‘I'm a liberator!’ he says. 'A seeker for truth and a finder of the lost!' Hogwash, I say. Not an honest bone in his body..."
The speaker was only a few feet from Mary now. She looked left and right, eyes wide and fists ready.
"We are all thieves of some degree, little Miss, or else we wouldn't be working here."
Mary felt a prickling on the nape of her neck. Slowly she looked up.
She screamed.
Hovering above her was the biggest spider she had ever seen. Eight feet long at the bare minimum, it peered back at Mary with eight mismatched eyes, and tusk-sized mandibles clicking. Parts of its anatomy resembled a woman's but only in an abstract sense. It had six 'arms' and two 'legs' that were black and segmented like a bug’s carapace. It slowly rappelled down a thick line of silk and came to a rest on the floor. Horrified, Mary backed away from the nightmarish creature.
"Oh, Kyron's found a fresh one, hasn't he? Yummy..." hissed the creature as it scuttled forwards. Mary bumped into something and stopped. The spider reared up on its hind legs, arms splayed wide. Mary had nowhere to run. She closed her eyes and whimpered her goodbyes. The beast touched her here and there gently. Mary could feel the soft pads of the spiders hands pushing into her arms, her legs, her back. Mary scrunched down into the corner and screwed her eyes tighter while she waited for the inevitable. There was nothing else she could do.
The beast lifted her arms and started cutting Mary’s clothes away. Soon the girl was standing in nothing but her underwear, shivering and praying to anybody listening that death wouldn't hurt too much.
"Turn around, would you, dear?" asked the spider politely with a silky voice.
Mary cracked an eye open. The spider had a tape measure pressed to her inner thigh. "What are you waiting for?" asked Mary sobbing.
"For you to turn around you silly girl. Your clothes aren't going to spin themselves."
The spider placed her hands on Mary’s shoulders and gently encouraged her around.
"That's better."
Mary quivered as the spider ran her hands over her shoulder blades.
"So you're not going to eat me?"
"Eat you? I'm trying to dress you, you silly thing. Now stop shaking and stand up straight or your suit will be several inches too short."
Mary sighed in relief. "You had me for a second there, you know..."
The spider paused. "I know. I was there. Heard the screams and everything. Thanks for not squishing me by the way, or reaching for the fly spray..." she added sarcastically.
Mary laughed nervously.
"So who have they put you with?"
"Lonagan," replied Mary
"Ah... the dark elf. You'll be needing this in black then..."
"Do you know him well?"
"He's a dreary chap. Quite the worker though. You'll learn a lot from him. Not bad for a dark elf all and all... Here try this on."
The spider tailor handed Mary a one-piece suit of darkest black. It looked tight and uncomfortable and she didn't particularly like the idea of wearing something made from spider’s silk. Unwilling to upset a giant spider, however, Mary nodded and slithered into the outfit.
"How is that, my dear?" asked the spider regarding her over crossed arms.
"It’s... great." Though tight, the suit was extremely flexible and comfortable. It seemed to mould itself perfectly to Mary's body. "How do you stop it from sticking to everything?"
"Trade secret. Come over and look in the mirror dear."
The spider led Mary to a freestanding mirror. She liked what she saw. She looked dangerous. She looked assassin-like.
"Hhmm..." rumbled the spider. "I do believe that it is my best work to date."
Mary posed in the mirror, alternating between her dangerous and glamorous looks.
"It breaths better than cotton, is stronger than steel yet is softer than feather down. Truly, I am a genius," boasted the spider.
"You should patent this. Everybody should have one!" exclaimed Mary.
"Alas, dear child, there is only one of me, and try as I might, my weaving ab
ilities are severely limited. I'm sure our dear Master would be delighted to milk every last drop from me should he ever discover the source of our exalted department’s attire."
“You mean he doesn’t know? The Old Man?” asked Mary. “How have you kept this a secret?” she said, indicating the suit.
The spider shook her head. “You have much to learn about the goings on in this shop, dear. He doesn’t concern himself with the hows and whys of our department. We are left to our own devices. I think he has lost his… passion for the job. Many years ago, he oversaw every mission and artefact. But now… our master is simply satisfied to receive his goods and fill his store. More’s the better I say. We have more freedom, more room to do things the way we want.”
"Mum's the word," whispered Mary buttoning her lips. "How much do I owe you?"
The spider seemed to sag. "Not a thing, my dear. It was my pleasure."
"Okay. Well thanks anyway."
"You're more than welcome."
Mary started for the door. She hesitated in the threshold. "Is there nothing I can get for you? As a token of my gratitude?"
The spider scratched its smooth head with one of its vicious clawed hands.
"You could bring me some of those gossip magazines. The ones with all of the latest fashions. I'm so out of the loop down here in this smelly dungeon."
Mary nodded. "I know exactly what you are talking about. I’ll see what I can find."
The spider gave her a dreadful smile and, quick as a flash, was scurrying back up to her ceiling perch. Mary wondered if a fly ever saw a similar grin just before it was snagged, wrapped and eaten.
Lonagan was busy repairing some blackened leather straps when Mary returned to the armoury. “Still in one piece, I see,” he said.
“She was lovely,” said Mary. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“Maybe it’s only the rude ones which get eaten ,” he said, shrugging. He threw a pile of leather junk at Mary’s feet. "Put that on. And quickly. The sun is almost down and Spring-heeled Jack will be out."
Mary buckled on a pleated leather skirt much like the Roman soldiers had worn, a leather chest piece, vambraces, gauntlets and modern army boots. Lonagan had fashioned a makeshift holster for her ungainly firearm which was slung on the opposite hip of her rapier. She felt every inch the adventurer. Lonagan looked her up and down, a hint of mischief in his eyes.
"Let's go and have some fun, shall we?"
