SMOKE AND BLADES

by D Elias Jenkins

  The figure drew its cloak tighter around itself.

  “You were deep in the Opaque dream. You were communing with someone you have lost. But you spoke to me also. I heard your thoughts even in this high house. And I have dreamt of you also.”

  Gaunt pinched the bridge of his nose to quell the hammers.

  “Are you…a physician?”

  Another throaty whir.

  “No. I am a mist priest. You have something similar in the west. In your city, Free Reign.”

  Gaunt managed to sit up and strained into the gloom.

  “You’re a sorcerer?”

  The figure stepped forward into the candlelight. It was not a human at all.

  Gaunt had not encountered his like anywhere. He was akin to a man sized stork or heron. The red scaled face was frilled by a ruff of bright blue feathers. Clever little yellow eyes regarded him from above a toothed beak that was as pliable as black rubber when it spoke.

  “I am. Although we occupy a different role here than in your lands.”

  Gaunt swung his legs around and slowly allowed his aching body to slide off the plinth. He had been dressed in a pair of simple beige pajamas and straw sandals. The creature observed him with quiet patience all the while. Gaunt could now see that the cloak was actually a pair of pale wings that enveloped him. Beneath these wings protruded long thin black hands tipped with tiny talons.

  Gaunt allowed his fuggy brain to wake up a little but it was still like thinking through treacle.

  “Do you have any medicine? For…this?”

  The creature cocked its head and the rubbery beak turned up in a small grin.

  “Not like the medicine you have been taking. You’ve been trying to cure pain by killing its host. Its effective but the survival rate is negligible.”

  Gaunt leaned back on the plinth and tried to control the shivering in his muscles.

  The creature stepped forward and handed him a small green bottle in its elegant fingers.

  “I do also have scallop soup simmering away upstairs that will perk you right up, but this’ll get to the heart of it.”

  Gaunt wasted no time. He uncorked it and took a sip. It was some kind of bitter plant extract and he fought to keep it down but felt the symptoms of his malaise subside. As his thoughts began to connect Gaunt looked at the creature over the bottle. He wasn’t entirely sure where he was or why he was here, but he felt no immediate threat from this being. Only curiosity.

  “I’ve been to most of the known world and sometimes even into the Uncharted. Met most folks of one kind or another. I don’t mean to stare, but you’re a first. You’re from Tiger Bay?”

  The creature stretched one wing and adjusted the silken robes that were wound around it like bandages.

  “Not originally. I’m from the high temples of Hoktu Mountains though I don’t imagine that means much to you, we’ve had no contact with the west. The traders I’ve met call us Plovian, though that’s not what we call ourselves. My name is Rak Tan Dang.”

  Gaunt raised a brow and the corner of his mouth twitched. He took another sip of bitter medicine.

  “Rag-time Dan.”

  “Almost.”

  “Nice to meet you, Dan.”

  Gaunt had been prepared for his own death. He had roamed half way round the known world to run away from his grief and his life. When he finally realized that it followed him like a specter on his shoulder wherever he sailed or trudged, he had decided to end it all in the most poetic way he could. He did not know if Opaque was a real conduit to the spirit world or just a clever salesman’s ploy, but to end his days in the soft spiritual arms of the woman he missed so bitterly was as close to atonement as he could have hoped for.

  Now as he stood there with all the pains of a hard life coursing through his scarred body, he laughed.

  He was in control of nothing, just a burnt cork floating about the oceans of the world. He was not to be given even the peace of death. As his nausea subsided he felt the tidal wave of emotions that his fugue state had temporarily subdued. The rage and hate and lust for blood. It was their relentless pounding on the door of his heart that he had been seeking solace from as much as from the loss of Izzy. He looked over at the Plovian mist priest that stood benign and patient in the corner. At that moment he just wanted to go, find more opaque or a bottle of wine and carry on the path he’d set for himself.

  “I appreciate what you’ve tried to do for me, Rag-time. Whatever vows of charity and compassion you’ve taken, the world is a richer place for them. But you’ve scooped the wrong soldier out the gutter, friend. I knew where I was headed and I wasn’t looking to be saved out of pity or kindness.”

  Rak Tan Dang blinked his enigmatic yellow eyes at Gaunt.

  “Oh I didn’t rescue you out of kindness. I want to strike a bargain with you.”

  Gaunt stopped drinking and stared at the creature. The hairs on his arms had prickled. Wherever this was headed, he had to admit he was curious now.

  “A bargain? There are no shortage of ex-soldiers and experienced men on this island. If you’re looking for a mercenary you’ll find fitter, more reliable and a lot more sober down the waterfront.”

  The mist priest smiled, an odd sight on his curved black bill.

  “I am the first mist priest you have met, so will forgive your ignorance of our role and purpose in society. We are healers and mages in our fashion, but our primary function is prophecy.”

  Gaunt smiled grimly.

  “Do I look like the future, Rag-Time?”

  Rak Tan Dang swept his wing in a wide gesture.

  “Do you feel that in the air? That undercurrent of that makes your hair stand on end. You must be familiar with it.”

  Gaunt could taste the tingle of it on his tongue.

  “Yeah, I know what sorcery smells like. The streamlines back home stink of it, especially when the rains hit them. Makes sense a sorcerer’s workshop might stink of it.”

  Rak Tan Dang cocked his head and smiled.

  “It’s not coming from me or this place. It’s emanating from you.”

  Gaunt turned his head and sniffed his shirt.

  “Come again?”

  Rak Tan Dang picked up a candle and drew close to Gaunt. He held up the flame and studied him up and down. The Plovian’s expression had become more intense and a little unnerving. Gaunt tensed under the piercing gaze. He sensed that under the benign exterior this character was not to be trifled with.

  “You, doom-seeker. Under all that sweat and booze, you’re emanating thaumaturgy like steam from a cup of tea. I could follow the steam all the way to the tea from anywhere on this island.”

  Gaunt leaned back a little on the plinth. His already jangled nerves were tingling.

  “I’m the tea?”

  “You’re the tea.”

  The creature’s head snapped up and stared at Gaunt an inch from his nose.

  “There is a demon in the world. He has robbed you of everything that you have, and he will rob you of more if you don’t stop him.”

  Gaunt’s bloodshot blue eyes flared with suppressed rage.

  “Who are you, Rag-Time? What do you mean he won’t stop there?”

  The mist priest drew back and studied Gaunt, taking a measure of him.

  “You know exactly what I mean. The demon and the artifact originated long ago, here in the east. You think it’s an accident that you, a piece of human driftwood, ended up here on the far side of the world?”

  Gaunt stood quite still looking at the eccentric sorcerer. He suddenly was finding the gloomy low ceilinged chamber quite claustrophobic.

  “Excuse me I’m a little slow, what with nearly being dead and all. What’s this bargain you want to strike?”

  Rak Tan Dang turned swiftly away and replaced the candle in the alcove.

  “I want you to commit a crime.”

  Gaunt rubbed his peppery stubble and tasted his own rancid breath.

  “Well considering my appearance, that makes more se
nse now. What kind of crime?”

  The Plovian sorcerer craned his long neck around and smiled knowingly.

  “A most taboo crime. I want you to steal something for me, from somewhere generally inaccessible.”

  Gaunt grunted, recalling all the shady missions Free Reign had sent him on over the years.

  “If you knew how many places I’d broken into on behalf of my government, you wouldn’t worry about that.”

  The sorcerer ruffled his feathers in a happy shiver.

  “Excellent. Because there is only one thing that can truly kill this demon that has blighted your life. It is very rare substance, in fact I do not think there is any of it left on this earth.”

  Gaunt stood straight and rolled out his aching shoulders. He felt a little life returning to his bruised body and with it the pain.

  Gaunt patted his pockets down for his packet of rillos. He found them and pulled out the least crushed one. He leaned across and lit it on a candle.

  “So where the hell is it you want me to break into?”

  Rak Tan Dang stood very still and answered quite matter-of-factly.

  “I want you to break in to the underworld.”

  Gaunt left the rillo hanging in the corner of his mouth. After everything he’s seen and done in his strange life, he thought he was unshockable. He now saw that he was wrong.

  Rak Tan Dang blew out his candle and the little yellow eyes glowed in the gloom.

  “Come, John Gaunt of Free Reign, you’ve moped about in this sepulcher for long enough. Come upstairs onto the balcony and have food with me. Then I can explain more.”

  Gaunt stood there with the rillo hanging from his lip. In a matter of hours he had gone from dead in a gutter to hired by a mad sorcerer to break into the underworld. A job offer that sounded like it was ripped straight from a children’s storybook. He puffed out a trail of smoke and scratched his rough chin. Suddenly the candlelit tomb felt like a more appealing place. He just wanted to lie back down and go to sleep.

  Rak Tan Dang gestured to a set of roughhewn stairs with his long wing.

  “Please. It is a beautiful morning outside. If you’re not hungry, I know I certainly am.”

  Gaunt felt the rumble in his empty belly and suddenly realized it had been at least a day since he had eaten anything. He decided not to decide anything else until he had something in his stomach.

  Stubbing out his rillo on the plinth, he followed the Plovian up the winding steps.

  Whether it was because of the gloom of the sepulcher or his own disposition, Gaunt had not expected it to be daylight outside.

  He arrived at the top of the steps and walked out into a glorious balmy morning in Tiger Bay. Far past the lacquered wooden balcony the sun was rising, casting a deep red hue on the Pearl Sea.

  The sky was an extravagant daubing of deep pinks and blues, smeared with streaky mandarin clouds. Gaunt walked out to the edge and took in his first full breath of morning air. The lightest breeze caught his face and smelled of climbing plants and the salt of the sea.

  Far below down the hillside he could hear the markets being set up and the low trundle of the funicular railway. A few wild south sea fireflies were thrumming sleepily in the bushes below the balcony.

  Gaunt looked around and the structure he was in consisted of a hipped roof with upturned corners supported by pillars. The floor was polished wood painted red and in the centre was a circular brass brazier that burned low. There were no walls and as Gaunt circumnavigated the floor he was offered a panoramic view of the island. The sorcerer waited patiently on the balcony for Gaunt to come full circle and then gestured for him to sit at the low cushions around the table.

  Gaunt ran a hand along the wooden tigers carved into the balcony handrail.

  “This is your home?”

  Rak Tan Dang nodded.

  “It’s the Temple of the Mist. There were more of us here until a few years ago when my brothers went off to the mainland as missionaries. I’ve stayed here as a custodian of sorts. The Syndicate of Spice leased this place to us a hundred and fifty years ago and I think the lease has long since been lost. Occasional lick of paint, keep the floor sanded, ring the bell in the morning, light the incense. Other than that, I’m free to pursue my interests.”

  Gaunt sat at the low table. It was set out with boiled goose eggs and pickles, spiny scruffplums and bright sunfruit, lightly battered pilgrim fish on a bed of coconut rice, and heating over a burner was a pot of soup bobbing with an archipelago of plump pale scallops and mushrooms. He looked at the spread with grumbling stomach but waited until Rak Tan Dang gave him the nod.

  Then Gaunt piled his plate high with everything he could grab and ate like it was Wintermass.

  Half an hour later, Gaunt sat back on a pile of cushions, looking out over the sprawling island down below. Further out, the Pearl Sea was now busy with fishing boats and Ornates bringing trade. Rak Tan Dang stood next to him and upturned a teapot. Aromatic steaming liquid poured into Gaunt’s glass and he breathed it in as the sun rose higher in the sky.

  What had the sorcerer called him? A doomseeker. He had heard the term before in Madame Bonekeeper’s Mistmarket. He wondered how he had allowed himself to be demolished in this way. He had endured so many injuries over the years, lost good friends and seen the undeserving civilians bear the brunt of military action. He had seen many soldiers reach their breaking point over the years and there was no telling what would trigger it. It could be too much exposure to thaumaturgic bombardment, the loss of a brother in arms, the sight of a mutilated child. Gaunt had always thought he was immune to such influences. The death of Izzy and their unborn had robbed his faith, loyalty and resilience. He was simply not prepared for the sense of powerlessness, the injustice of it. The thought of it going unpunished and unavenged was what did for him. It ate at him and tore at his soul until he was ragged and tattered. After a time, all the anger and resentment began to weigh on a man’s soul and crush it, until the rage became sorrow and despair. Anger inverted.

  Gaunt sat there on the cushions sipping tea and enjoying the view over the ocean. For the briefest moment he felt a pang of hope and peace. Then it was gone.

  “So, Rag-time. Now you’ve fattened me up, tell me about how you’re gonna throw me to the wolves.”

  The Plovian folded his spindly legs beneath him and sat on a cushion on the other side of the table.

  “Are you familiar with the sorcerous application called clipping the moonlight?”

  Gaunt shook his head.

  “Not ringing a bell.”

  “I think your mages call it shredding a slip.”

  Gaunt made an aaaah face.

  “Yes, it’s their means of thaumaturgic travel. They tear a small hole in reality and one in the place they want to reach and they fold the two sides together then just step through.”

  Rak Tan Dang seemed to ponder this explanation for a while.

  “That’s a very western interpretation but you’ve got the right idea. That’s how we will be getting you in.”

  Gaunt leaned back against the balcony and lit a rillo. He glanced up at the sorcerer with an arched eyebrow.

  “To the underworld.”

  “Yes.”

  “What exactly do you want me to steal?”

  The mist priest took a quill and drew hastily upon a napkin. He presented it to Gaunt. It looked like a small man with six arms and a horned head.

  “A small statue that looks like this. It is the god of justice but that is not important. What is important is what it’s made of.”

  “Which is?”

  “It is a stone called Grimjade that if I have enough of it I can take to my forges and create a weapon for you. It will be deadly to the thing you face.”

  Gaunt took a moment to breath in some smoke, let the chemicals momentarily sharpen his brain, and then blew it out over the balcony. He stroked his chin and frowned.

  “It’s almost macabre to play on a man’s death wish that way. Doom see
ker you called me. If I wasn’t such a washed up suicidal shipwreck I’d probably protest. Paying a man for work done with his own death. No matter how much that man might crave it. That’s cold, holy man.”

  Rak Tan Dang cocked his head and blinked at Gaunt. Then he laughed and his feathers ruffled in mirth.

  “John Gaunt, you’ve gravely misunderstood me. I’m not paying you with your own death. That was never my offer to you. Besides, I have looked into your soul. That is not truly what you crave.”

  Gaunt was losing his patience. He glanced out through the slats of the balcony and down the forested hillside towards the upper districts of the town. He imagined that within the hour he could be in a mistmarket or a public house, numbing the pain with magic and chemicals.

  “Then what are you paying me with? Remember where you found me, bird man. What could you think I want more than death?”

  Rak Tan Dang straightened his back and extended two long thin black fingers in front of Gaunt.

  “Two things. The first is revenge. You want revenge on the men who robbed you of everything you care about. You want justice against the dark souls that have harmed your family and your city and caused the death of so many innocents.”

  Gaunt stared at the sorcerer with bloodshot eyes. He was looking for a clever come back but knew he didn’t have one. His heart was constantly aflame with the desire for revenge. It was charring his soul by the day. Finally he nodded.

  “Truthfully, I’d snatch the life out of every one of them, everyone associated with them, and everyone who profits from them. But you can’t give me that, wizard.”

  Rak Tan Dang spread his wings and gave a small bow.

  “I beg to differ. Because the second thing I can offer you is the chance to bring back your wife’s soul from the underworld.”

  Gaunt didn’t feel his fingers letting go of the teacup. Suddenly it was in pieces on the red floor and the noise reached him from afar.

  “What did you just say?”

  The sorcerer looked inwards for a moment, as if internally checking that he had translated his intention correctly from his own tongue.

  “Your payment John, for bringing me the artefact I need, is the opportunity to enact vengeance on those who have wronged you and your city, and reunite you with the soul of your woman. Would that be sufficient remuneration?”