Jashandar's Wake - Book Two: Unclean Places

by L. S. Kyles

  Chapter 36

  Mums nearly screamed as she spun round and slapped at the hand on her shoulder, so surprised by the contact that her shoulder struck the wall and her hip struck the halfling. She felt the wall crumble beneath her and heard the halfling go rolling down the corridor.

  Reetsle was still rolling as she peered up through the ominous gloom and laid eyes on her attacker. The attacker peered back, a steadily clearing outline in the surrounding murk. She could make out the bow and quiver over his shoulder, and the broadsword at his belt, the long black locks and the soft elk-skin boots.

  Iman swung his puzzled gaze from her to Reetsle and back again, his confusion steadily giving way to alarm. Clearly, he had not expected to step into the hall and find his colleagues sprinting for the staircase, nor had he expected to have one of them take a swing for his head as he put his hand to her shoulder.

  Rather than mention either of these unexpected events, he gestured outside and said, “What happened to the—”

  As one hissing voice, Mums and Reetsle sat up tall and began waving their hands, shushing him into silence.

  Iman took a step back, his face indignant. “Hey, it’s too late for that!” he said. “That thing outside already knows we’re—”

  Being the first to compose herself, Mums grabbed the captain by the front of his chainmail and pulled his shocked expression into her mane.

  “There’s a backdoor in the kitchen,” she whispered. “I don’t want that thing to hear us use it—Now move!”

  She pulled him around her and gave him a shove for the stairwell, watching as he skidded through the black mush on the floor and waved his arms for balance. He just managed to stop himself before stumbling head-over-heels down the queue of steps.

  “Okay, okay, that’s fine,” he said, holding up his hands in entreaty, but still speaking in his regular voice. “I wasn’t finished yet, but hey, whatever. We can leave. I just, uh…,” he made a glance passed her at the other end of the hall, “…I’ll come back later, that’s fine. Big pain in my neck, you know, but whatever. If that’s how you want it—”

  “We’re leaving,” Mums hissed, giving him a nudge with the cudgel.

  Iman backed down the stairs. “Okay, okay,” he said. “I get it!” He pumped his raised palms at her, fending her off. “But come on, that thing beating on the house—” the stairwell shook with the force of another blow “—it’s not even fast. It’s not like we’re in a hurry.”

  “Move,” Mums said, jabbing the club at him as she and Reetlse descended a step behind.

  Eluding the end of the cudgel, taking another blind step down the stairs, Iman said, “It’s not midday yet…,” his eyes darted to the wall of the staircase as he thought, “…at least I don’t think it is.” His eyes snapped back to her. “I’m pretty sure we have time to try other places.” Hands still held before him, he shrugged his shoulders. “You two could get some rest. I could come back here once that thing leaves. Have a—”

  Whatever he was going to have once he came back was swallowed by the next explosion of wood in the stairwell. Before he could repeat himself, Mums cut him off.

  “If we don’t reach the Sway by nightfall,” she snarled, splitting her attention between his descending head and the trembling stairs, “that thing outside will be the LEAST of your worries.”

  Iman’s brows dropped. “Are you still on about the boggen?”

  Mums didn’t answer. She was focused on the next step as she eased her weight on a spot near the outer wall, touching down on the mossy plank at the exact same time that the manor shuddered with the another quake-like blast.

  She stopped in mid-step, waited until she could hear again, then lowered her foot. The board held and she moved to the next, repeating the arduous process until she reached the bottom.

  She stepped into frigid ground water and felt Reetsle go racing around her. She heard him splashing through the darkness and tried to give chase, but Iman was in her way.

  “You know,” he said, “I don’t really believe in the boggen. I know I told you I did, but I just said that.” He shrugged. “I wanted to visit the ruins and I thought that’s what you wanted to hear, but take it from me…,” he placed a hand on her shoulder, “…the boggen do not exist. They’re just stories, tale made-up by relatives to keep the looters out of their stuff.”

  Mums extended the bugle of her cudgel. “Keep moving,” she hissed, thinking the captain’s hypothesis seemed reasonable, but that now was not the time.

  Weaving away from the club, Iman said, “But if we lea—”

  “It ain’t through yet,” Reets said, cutting him off from the lobby door, “but if’n we’re gona do this, we best get to doin’.”

  “You heard him,” she whispered, making a grab for Iman’s shoulder plate and watching him shrug away from her grasp.

  “If we leave now—” he began, cut short this time as she raised her club and nearly caught him in the midsection.

  “Move,” she snapped, and finally he did, giving her one long and dirty look then stomping next to the halfling.

  “Ah’right,” Reetsle said, peaking around the frame and waving them on. He disappeared through the doorway and the captain fled after, Mums close on his heels.

  In the direction of the front door, the crawler must have thrown itself at the manor. The whole of the building shuddered as though waking from a bad dream, wall planks cracking, ceiling beams groaning. Mums kept her eyes on Iman, watching as he reached the far side of the foyer and broke into a run.

  In a brief moment of thought, Mums had time to wonder if they shouldn’t have waited until they were out of the manor to make their break, but she deferred to her colleagues’ expertise. They were the fighters (not her) and they didn’t appear worried about giving away their position. In fact, the only hesitation came when they finally met the exit in the rear of the kitchen.

  Reetsle placed his hand to the handle and looked back at her, raising his brows.

  Mums stood catching her breath and stared at him daftly. Around them, pots and kettles were bobbing in the wake of their passage, clanking softly in the dark. She had no idea what the adviser from Erinthalmus was waiting for, but she nodded for him to proceed.

  Reetsle turned to the door and depressed the thumb latch, gritting his teeth as the rusty mechanism stuck, then relaxing as the corrosion broke free and the latch popped loose of its bracket. He shoved hard, but only made a crack between door and frame. He muttered a curse and threw his shoulder into it; the door popped open with a rush of displaced water.

  He peeked outside at the yellow-white of the day and winced at the flooded yard and adjoining alley.

  Mums tightened her grip on the cudgel, her impatience on the rise, and leaned forward in the gloom. She was just about to shove the halfling through the door when he stepped forward and waved them on.

  It’s about time, she thought, but before she could take her first step, Reetsle came leaping back inside and nearly collided with Iman. She watched the captain spin to the side and let the halfling spill past him (landing on his back in a spray of cookery and water), then she was peering out through the doorway.

  She had time to think, If there’s something out there, it can’t be the crawler. I just heard the crawler at—, and then something like a white wall fell into the area outside the backdoor, something that sent an explosion of water into the kitchen and into her eyes.

  Falling back from the doorway, wiping a hand across her eyes, Mums saw she’d been wrong about the crawler. Somehow the thing had scaled the house and lunged down upon them. She could see parts of its pale, veined body writhing in the muck, throwing up great sheets of water and colliding with the side of the manor, each blow bringing down a rancid shower of detritus, bits of plaster, wads of web, whole chunks of rafter.

  Blinded by the rain of filth, she cupped a hand to her face and backed towards the dining room, stopping only when the door jam struck her in the shoulder.
She blinked open an eye and saw the crawler going mad in the backyard, the cloud of grime and grit still raining down from the walls and ceiling.

  Something hit her in the side and she flinched, glancing down to find the halfling pawing at his own eyes as he wove towards the dining room. She grabbed his arm and led him through the door, kicking aside pots and spoons and finding Iman in the next room.

  The captain was standing at the door to the foyer, his head jerking back and forth between her and front door in what might have been a comical display under different circumstances. When he saw her coming, halfling in tow, he broke for the front door.

  Mums carried after him, catching a glimpse of movement out the back windows as something like a thick ivory log flopped against the mansion. It had to be the crawler’s tail, but, at a glance, she didn’t remember it being so long. She told herself it must have been hidden beneath the water and continued to run, tripping into the lobby and finding the room empty.

  She stopped and stared, stunned by the vacant foyer. She might not have been so stunned, except the front door was still shut. She stared at the crossbar laid across the brackets, the lock engaged on the handle. But if Iman hadn’t exited through the front door, where had he gone?

  In a flash, she jerked her head at the stairwell and felt her fury come alive. Instead of fleeing out the front door, the good captain had gone back upstairs to continue pecking on walls and emptying dressers.

  The little imbecile! she raged. He’s going to get us all—

  The front of the manor shuddered with the force of another colossal blow. Mums turned to face it, frowning stupidly and swinging her free arm for balance. She turned and jerked her head at the dining room window, peering outside at the giant anemic tail still flopping about in the inky ground water.

  But it can’t be. The thing can’t be in both places at once.

  Again, the front of the mansion rocked violently as something very large came smashing into its face.

  Without thought, Mums rushed for the stairwell, Reetsle flopping against one hip, the door frame crashing against the other. She squeezed through the entryway and raced up the steps, one of them breaking halfway to the top. She sank to her knee and screamed in frustration, hauling herself free and ascending the rest on all fours, the halfling crawling along behind.

  At the top, she made it to her feet and fell into the first doorway to present itself, the one where she’d come from.

  At the vine-clogged window, Iman Janusery stood to one side of the sill and scowled down at the thing pounding on the front of the manor.

  “What is it?” Mums gasped, pointing at the back of the house. “Was it another one, another crawler?”

  Iman eyes never left the vines. “Don’t know,” he said. “Didn’t see it.”

  Reetsle came staggering in from the hall, but rather than make comment on the beast (or give complaint about his manhandling), he hobbled to the opposite side of the window and propped his axe against the wall.

  “It got above us,” Mums said, still panting for breath. “How’d it get above us?” She stared at Iman as though he should know the answer, as though the first into the room became omniscient by default.

  Still peering out the window, Iman gave her a nearly imperceptible shake of his head. Beside him, Reetsle climbed atop a stool and peeked through the vines.

  “Wait! The hole!” Mums stumbled towards the hallway. “There’s a hole in the north wall! We can use the hole!”

  Staring through the vines, his body motionless in the shadows, Iman said, “We’re not using anything.”

  Mums stopped, one foot in the corridor, her head gawking back at him.

  “The thing at the kitchen door,” Iman said, still peering out the window, “it’s not like the thing up here.” He exhaled listlessly, like a dying man, and said, “It’s quick.”

  Mums turned to corridor, staring at the wall as though she could see through the plaster. The good captain might have a point. The two creatures apparently had the same doughy skin, but how could anything as big and clumsy as the crawler get onto the roof? It had difficulty dragging its bulk across the ground, let alone hoisting itself over a two-story building.

  In the lawn behind the manor, as if to settle the matter of identity once and for all, the air began to fill with the sound of sails billowing in the wind. Mums cocked an ear in the direction of the gusts, listening to the whoop-whoop of air as the gusts rose to the second floor and circled around the mansion. She tracked the sound with her ears, turning slowly and keeping pace with the movement.

  When the whooping flapped its way to the front of the building, she followed it to the bedroom window and watched as Reetsle and Iman stepped away from the vines. Through a break in the tendrils (the wind was blowing them all over), she saw something like a veined white trunk lifting through the air.

  Its passage kept time with the steady elevation of the whooping and she realized the massive tube was tapering off like the tail of a rat.

  At the very end of the tail, just before the pasty shaft disappeared from sight, she spied a tangle in its length, a knotted ball adorned with something like the same black hair she had seen on the crawler. The strands were longer than those on the crawler, but no less black. They stuck out from the creases and flapped in the gale.

  She lifted her head to follow its trajectory, moving her eyes up the wall and into the middle of the ceiling. After a moment, the flapping slowed and the ceiling beams groaned. From corner of her eye, she spied shingles tumbling passed the window. All around her pieces of plaster and wood spilled from the ceiling.

  When the flapping finally stopped, and the detritus fell no more, she was aware of a slight creaking in the rafters as something large settled on the roof.