The creature was so strong! The force of the restricted blows from the mummy’s ancient blade rang loud as it met Kerian’s own defensive movements. To the left and the right, the monster jabbed and prodded, looking for ways past Kerian’s defence but the knight was resolute the giant guard’s attacks would not best him.
Kerian lunged forward, scoring the giant’s hand and making it jerk back, before he lashed downward with his blade, catching the giant in the leg, scoring deeply into the golden surface. On the offensive, he pushed his advantage, parrying high, deflecting the giant’s weapon away and up high every time it tried to land a blow. Then he changed tactic, stepping to the side, allowing the supernatural guard’s sword arm to crash down, its blade scraping along the wall, only for Kerian to run up the monster’s arm and slam his blade home into the undead monster’s eye socket.
The creature let out a mournful cry before slumping down in the corridor, its undead corpse lifeless. Kerian slithered down the golden creature and walked over to where the mounts and the gypsy waited.
“Oh so well done.” Octavian clapped sarcastically. “How are we supposed to get the horses over that? That golden monstrosity has completely blocked the corridor back into the city.” Kerian walked straight by, leaving Octavian still moaning behind him. He had no time for the gypsy. There was something odd about this corridor.
Why leave the horses in a dead end? It made no sense. Why was there running water and places for the horses to be tied? It was not a stable, that much was clear but something had made the undead bring these animals here for some reason, almost as if they were just waiting for someone to take them for a ride.
He placed his hand on his hips thinking aloud. Then he walked back towards Octavian who still stood there holding the torch high. Kerian flashed a disarming smile.
“Do you mind if I borrow your torch?” He asked, taking the burning brand in his left hand even as his right curled into a fist and smashed the hilt of his sword into Octavian’s forehead. The gypsy’s head snapped back, then rocked forward only for Kerian to slam an uppercut under his jaw, rocking the man up on his feet, before dropping him to the floor.
“That was for stealing from me!” Kerian snarled down at the groaning gypsy. “And this…” He delivered another stunning blow to Octavian’s skull, splitting the skin and drawing blood, this time finally robbing the gypsy of his consciousness.
“…is for making me believe I could trust you.”
* * * * * *
Thomas indicated then pulled the police cruiser up to the kerb in a controlled skid, the strobe of the police light joining those of the emergency services already at the crime scene. He turned off the ignition, letting the air conditioning unit whine to a stop, took a deep breath and then climbed out of the battered pool car, allowing the sultry night air to wash over him.
You had to be mad to work in New York in the summer: Hot and humid during the day, uncomfortable and sticky in the evening. The roof of the car felt hot under his fingers as he locked the door and placed the car keys carefully into his pocket. His work colleagues teased him about securing the car at the best of times but Thomas knew that the only reason he had survived so long on these crime-ridden streets was because he was careful and never took chances.
As in all crime scenes, Thomas took a moment to take in the orderly chaos of the area; a team of paramedics were attending to one poor soul, clearly dead on the floor, his life dripping out of him like a leaky faucet. Blood stained packets of gauze, discarded nitrile gloves, hissing oxygen lines, cracked drug vials and a humming defibrillator; medical detritus marking a battlefield where the outcome had not been favourable.
Over in the open back of an ambulance, two other medics comforted a mother, clearly in shock, her pale face peering forlornly from a wrapped foil blanket, her eyes red rimmed, cheeks streaked with tears, her body visibly trembling. Uniformed police milled about, unrolling yellow police tape and pushing back the crowd of vultures who had come to gawk at the proceedings whilst filming everything with their mobile phones to upload on social media sites in an attempt to gain momentary fame.
Thomas checked his police shield was prominently displayed at his belt and patted his right hip to confirm his side arm was secure before he headed purposefully through the crowd. He knew his fellow detectives were already at the scene. He could see the tall figure of MacMichael wrapped in a shroud of cigarette smoke and his shorter side kick Eede flirting with one of the female cops even now.
“Nice night for it.” Thomas opened. “So what have we got guys.”
Eede looked over with a goofy grin. “Hiya Thomas. Where’s Jerry?” MacMichael started to laugh at the traditional greeting, even though it had grown tiresome for Thomas, and then ended up coughing heavily before spitting some phlegm on the sidewalk.
“Littering is an offense. Write him up Eede.” Thomas jibed.
“Get your own secretary.” MacMichael fired back. “I don’t pay him by the hour for nothing.”
“I get paid?” Eede replied, arching an eyebrow and crossing his arms, his grey trench coat flaring out behind him like a cape. Thomas took in the shorter man, his denim shirt, beige trousers and cowboy boots completing an outfit that would not have looked out of place on a pop star. Thomas shot out his hand to ruffle Eede’s spiky strawberry blonde hair and got a scowl that would have scorched him to the ground with its intensity. The shorter detective stared up at Thomas with a look of horror. “Never touch the hair man!”
“Uniform code on a day off today?” Thomas joked. “Or is it wash day and you have nothing clean.”
“That’s a good one.” MacMichael replied, exhaling more cigarette smoke, whilst staring at a pretty onlooker through his shades, his outfit of a denim shirt with the loudest waistcoat Thomas had ever seen, finishing off a look that only MacMichael could pull off and still be taken seriously. The man had jeans with designer holes in them that looked as if moths had been having a feast at the wearer’s expense. He even had his long black hair slicked back and tied with an elastic band. Thomas wasn’t sure if this was a hippy thing or what but if anyone could pull off the look it was MacMichael.
“So what have we got?” Thomas prodded again, impatient to get in out of the heat.
“Umm.” MacMichael cleared his throat and pulled a pencil from behind his ear to tap it on his notepad. “Child abduction. Johnny Datchler. Disappeared about two hours ago. Mum states he was playing in his room. No signs of forced entry, no signs of a struggle. It’s as if the child just opened his bedroom window and flew away.”
“Johnny Datchler?” Why did that name sound familiar and why was it suddenly so hot?
“Yep, Mums the hot dame in the back of the ambulance.” Eede shot back. “Forensics should be wrapping up by now. Why don’t we go and take a look at the crime scene?”
Thomas allowed Eede to lead, MacMichael following behind, as the three men headed across the road and took in the house for the first time. It was a detached property, living room and kitchen on the ground floor, bathroom and bedrooms above. Garage on the left. Pretty well-kept garden. Wonky number six on the door. Thomas walked up onto the porch, took in the football, the red racing bike and the swing. It was almost as if he had been here before.
They walked into the hall, Eede laughing and teasing the forensic team by offering ‘high fives’ they could not return due to the fact they were all bedecked in gloves and gowns.
“It’s up here.” MacMichael gestured. A potted plant sat on the landing window, all shrivelled and dry. Out of place in a house that was so orderly and neat. Thomas moved into the bedroom, his throat suddenly dry. He knew this room. The bed with the Star Wars duvet and the Highlander movie poster on the wall, displaying Christopher Lambert proclaiming to the world ‘there can be only one’.
“Hey, he’s wearing your clothes.” MacMichael gestured, ribbing his partner at Christopher Lambert’s look.
“His coats the wrong colour.” Eede laughe
d. “What do you think Thomas?”
Thomas tried to laugh, attempted to join in with the banter of his colleagues but something drew him to the open window where forensics had dusted heavily. The net curtains rippled into the room despite Thomas feeling no breeze. He moved closer, noting something was bizarre about this scene. He ducked his head through the curtain to take in the rooftop outside.
Moss had been scrapped away from the tiles in a few places, whether from the boys exit, the assailant’s entry or the forensic team. He leaned out further, ignoring Eede’s joke that he did not need to jump, especially when he had friends like them.
“Hurry up and jump Thomas.” MacMichael joked.
Thomas felt a compulsion to run his gloved hand around the frame and felt something cold and metallic wedged under the sill. He leaned over, further out than before and tried to grab the object, still unsure what he had touched but knowing in his mind that there was a sense of déjà vu to this entire scene.
The object suddenly popped out from where it had become stuck and almost slipped from Thomas’s grasp. He caught the cold metal toy and carefully brought it back into the room before he dared open his eyes and stare at what he held in his hand.
“Thomas has a new set of wheels.” Eede joked.
Thomas stared at what lay in his hand in shock, not understanding how he could be here. Not comprehending the replay of events or how he could be holding what was now in his hand. He had to be dreaming, there was no other possible explanation.
How else could he explain how he came to be holding a matchbox police cruiser with G12 stencilled on the roof?
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Now I know why they are all wearing green.” Ives moaned wiping his hand down the front of his cream tunic and leaving an emerald smear across his rotund stomach. “Everything here is wet, dripping or oozing slime.”
“Much like yourself...” Weyn replied, indicating the sweat patches beneath Ives arms and around his neck, where buzzing mosquitos dive bombed and plunged their proboscises deep into the merchant’s skin, gorging on blood enriched by the exotic banquet from the evening before.
“I find it fascinating.” Marcus confessed, flipping over to another page in his journal and sketching furiously in his attempt to document his discoveries. The monk regarded his small ledger with thought, seriously considering if he would need a larger one. He had always imagined documenting his adventures as a member of the St Fraiser monastery; copying the actions of the founding saint, gathering knowledge for others to read. Now, here he was, worlds away from the cloisters, with so many things to document he did not know where to begin.
Rauph stood silently alongside the men, his eyes closed, his nostrils flaring, taking in the deep loamy smell of the tropical jungle where the Minotaur had decided to establish their base camp. Haunting animal howls and bird cries echoed throughout the forest canopy, awakening memories the navigator never even knew he had. Gnarled and bulbous trees stretched up to create the roof of this natural cathedral, their trunks covered in strangling vines, exotic orchids and creatures that slithered amongst the shadows.
“What’s up Rauph?” Aradol asked, clunking over in his father’s ancient ill-fitting armour and ruining the Minotaur’s reflection. “You appear to be leagues away.” The navigator cracked open an eye and regarded his colleague with a look of confusion.
“I am right here alongside you, mere feet, not leagues away,” he tutted. “I do not understand you sometimes Aradol.” Something shrieked out a challenge from the darkness of the forest, setting off a cacophony of sounds from the lesser beasts that lived in the jungle.
“Well I for one am glad you are here.” Aradol confessed, supressing a shiver before turning to look around the clearing at all the Minotaur assembled there. The huge animals moved about the area with purpose, passing through emerald green and vibrant lemon columns of light where the sun pierced the canopy above. Some were loading creatures into cages, the animals stunned from toxins set within the traps that subdued them. Others poked spears at the more violent creatures, laughing as the monsters reacted with hisses, roars and in one unfortunate Minotaur’s case, a face full of barbs from the tail of the enraged creature that he teased. Other Minotaur headed off down game trails, determined to win a prize declared by Drummon for the most ferocious and deadly monster to be captured alive for the games.
Although the ground was largely clear here, with only sparse, low growing spiky shrubs and a rich layer of leaf mulch, it still moved. Insects crawled, wriggled and jumped, eager for food scraps dropped by the party, or the rich nectar from the occasional flower, lazily spinning down to the ground from its mother plant high above in the sunlight. Blue ants gathered leaves, marching in lines, waving their prizes as if miniature flags in a parade the crew were too large to appreciate. The trails heading further into the jungle looked narrow, claustrophobic and extremely hostile in nature. This was a world away from the city of Taurean, which lay somewhere off to the West, several hours’ trek from where the hunting party had moored shallow barges that they had employed to get here.
Commagin paced restlessly near the entrance to one of the tunnels, eager to move on with the search and find the death’s head orchid. However, no one had informed the crew where they were meant to hunt or given them the approval to go, leaving the Dwarven engineer with nothing to do but walk around in ever widening circles muttering impatiently under his breath, his crossbow slung over his shoulder.
“We are wasting valuable time.” Mathius commented, as he closed to the far side of Rauph, flicking a large spider from Aradol’s shoulder as he passed. “You need to talk to Drummon and get some idea where we can find this plant so we can get back to the ship. I have no doubt that whilst we tarry, Thomas is getting worse.”
“Don’t you think I know this?” Rauph replied, his eyes adopting a haunted look as the weight of their problem crashed about his shoulders.
“I will go with you.” Weyn announced. “I want another chance to annoy our host and to have a look at his regal longbow. Maybe if I ask nicely, he will let me have a go.”
“I would not count on it.” Mathius replied. “Marcus please don’t put your hand on that tree branch.”
“Why?” Marcus enquired, leaning forward, pushing aside glossy leaves bigger that his hand as he moved further into the foliage to get a better glimpse of a particularly impressive red and yellow patterned butterfly.
“Because it’s a snake!”
* * * * * *
“Drummon, we want to get involved in this hunt as well.” Rauph opened in a rush; worried his courage would desert him if he did not say what was needed as quickly as possible. His outburst drew the Prince’s attention away from a team of Minotaur that were dragging a large sack from one trail entrance, the creature inside thrashing and rolling about in a vain attempt to escape. “Where would you like us to go?” The huge black Minotaur turned menacingly towards Rauph and Weyn, agitated, before he suddenly appeared to calm himself, flexing his hands and breathing deeply.
“There is jungle all around you, teeming with creatures.” He replied, throwing his arms wide. “Pick a trail, explore, find a monster worthy of the Labyris competition and bring it back. You do not need me to show you where to go. You have been here many times.” Rauph looked about taking in each trail and finding nothing in his memories that agreed with Drummon’s suggestions. He wrinkled his nose in frustration and turned back to the Prince Regent wanting to say something but unable to form the words.
“We did not wish to assume or break protocol.” Weyn butted in, upon seeing the difficulty Rauph was having in formulating his response. “After all we did not want to be rude and felt it only fair to give your men a head start, before we win the competition and bring back the most dangerous animal for your tournament.”
“Do you always let your pets speak for you?” Drummon snarled, moving in closer and towering over Weyn. “I’m starting to dislike this one immensely.�
�
“I like them to show a degree of free will.” Rauph replied. “They are more productive that way.”
“What did you say?” Weyn turned to look at Rauph in surprise at the derogatory comment, only to be cuffed violently across the back of the head by Drummon, the force of the blow dropping the archer heavily to the ground.
“Stay down, hold your tongue and know your place human.” Drummon growled. “Or I shall remove your tongue for you.” Weyn shook his head in shock, spitting soil from his mouth, wincing with pain as his lip started to swell from hitting the ground. The archer’s face flushed red at the insult and he started to get back to his feet, his hand reaching for a hunting knife at his belt.
“How dare you touch me!” Weyn snapped, tensing his whole body to leap up and tackle the Minotaur, his common-sense evaporating in a haze of anger.
“Stay down or I will have you flogged, servant.” The sound of the warning was unmistakable, yet what struck and wounded the archer, more than the tone of the words, was the source of the order. As the archer looked up from his sprawled position, he saw Rauph clench his fist and raise it towards him, threatening violence if Weyn dared to challenge the command.
Confident Weyn would remain grounded, the navigator turned from his fallen companion and moved over to Drummon, slinging an arm around the Prince Regent as if they were the best of friends, ushering the thuggish creature away from Weyn and acting as if he had no concern about the crewman.
“Kristoph, you really must learn to control your humans better.” Drummon remarked as they walked away. “How can you rule them, if they continue to act in this way? Independent thought should not be encouraged; it should be crushed.”
“I understand you are only trying to be helpful.” Rauph replied, knowing just how close Weyn had come to physical harm as Drummon’s hand eased away from the hilt of a dagger at his waist. “It is just that where I have been, they do not treat humans this way. There will need to be a period of…”
The Labyris Knight Page 41
