‘Not hero material,’ Maya said with distaste. ‘He had my money too, that’s all.’
‘You like money?’
‘This better not be an indecent proposal.’
‘My God, you don’t trust anyone, no? I hear you wound sexual predators.’
‘No offense, Jed, but you’re male. Somehow, no woman in Frozen Bombay has tried to put a hand on me against my will. Do you see a pattern there?’
‘I take the point,’ Jed said. ‘This was much safer city. Mafia ruined it, mafia, pirates, traders . . . all kind of riffraff. People who should not be here.’
‘Why did you call me here? You might be rich, but that doesn’t mean you buy my time.’
‘You know who I am, then.’
‘Only what I’ve heard. You’re a moneylender.’
Jed shook his head. ‘You put mildly. I am loan shark. I lend money all right, but I also know how to get back, yes.’
‘All right. And?’
‘And seems to me that you fall on—hard times, I think.’
Maya smiled a scary smile. ‘And how do you reach that assumption?’
‘I hear everything. Let’s just say—week back, you don’t bother with stopping that man, getting your silver back.’
‘Even if I were to have money trouble,’ Maya said, getting up, ‘the last thing I would do is borrow from a loan shark. Goodbye.’
‘Xavier,’ Jed said lazily. ‘I offer you job.’
Maya froze and sat back down. ‘I’m listening. What kind of job?’
‘The kind you handle easy. Good pay. You work for me as first collector.’
Maya twiddled her gauntleted thumbs. ‘You mean I’ve got to get the money back from those who owe you?’
‘No, no. That second collectors do. And third collectors, they hide body.’ He smiled. ‘First collector gives simple warning. Pay before next week or Jed Alfan get angry.’
‘Sounds simple.’
‘Sometimes people panic. They try to hurt you, they mock you or not listen, or ask for more time, protest, tell sob story. Sometime you have to break thumb, few bones, some magic, yes?’
‘Why me?’ Maya asked, even though she was about to say yes. ‘This seems like a job anyone could do.’
‘Sorcerer from the East. Killer of husbands. Proficient with magic. Strange black gauntlet no one sees before. Stories about you. Intriguing. People are talking, Xavier. Does not matter to me, I feel no interest in truth or your past.’ Jed leaned close. ‘But they know you work for me, they fear me more. And they fear you too. If I stand behind you, no one in this city touch you.’
Maya did not really need to think about it. ‘Sounds about right,’ she said. ‘How much will you pay me?’
‘I pay you each month,’ Jed said. ‘How much you want?’
‘A hundred silvers,’ Maya said immediately, an enormous sum.
‘I pay you two hundred,’ Jed said. ‘You start tomorrow.’
Maya did her new job well. She had to journey out into the other parts of Frozen Bombay, but she realised she didn’t mind it. She discovered Parel, Juhu, and the beaches there, Andheri, Goregaon, Kandevali, Borivali, and Chembur as she tracked down more and more elusive debtors. Jed Alfan had been telling the truth. His name scared people. It was a name that pulled her out of tight situations more than once, and she knew she now had a prime degree of protection difficult to manage otherwise.
Jed did not bother her in any way. He gave her assignments and paid her well as promised. Maya ventured out more in her spare time—she visited the Gateway of India, bought dubious items at Colaba, saw old films at the Regal, spent hours poring over books at the Elphinstone Library, books covering incredible topics. She started reading about the history of the Shades, despite herself.
But the one thing Maya did not have were friends. The only people she really engaged in conversation with were Labadon, the merchant who now had a permanent shop in the Bazaar—a tremendous achievement—and Jed Alfan, who at times would call and ask her questions that did not need answers.
‘Do you wonder why sky always red?’ he would ask. ‘They say skies were blue because of ocean which was too. But ocean still blue. Then why the sky changes?’
Her first real friend in Frozen Bombay turned out to be Charles Ward, whom she met a few weeks into her new job.
17
It took Gray three days to get the meeting he wanted. To be frank, he knew it would never have happened without the rumours they had spread. The lawkeepers had questioned him once, yes, but they couldn’t charge him. It was amazing what a few corpses and the words vampire outbreak could do.
It was impossible, the fact that Fayne’s plan had worked, that rumours spread in Frozen Bombay with the ugliness and speed of an epidemic. Doubtless the rumours had reached Drake, infamous for being a disciplinarian. Drake would not allow something like this in his own city, and after the card Gray had sent to the Sea Lord, a summoning had been expected. And here Gray was, the mighty gates of the Sea Lord’s palace open before him. Four days after they had stepped into Frozen Bombay. Not bad.
He suppressed his disbelief and walked in, surrendering his shotgun to the guards. The hall was decked in sea greens and dark stone, an aura of damp permeating presences. It did not have murmurs or talk, only a dull, throbbing silence. It smelled of the sea, of underwater caves and the mould one would find there; there was something in this court which made it unique in its own right, not the stone seats all around the hall, not the giant statues along the sides of the hall, not the throne of stone, and not the small wells of green water on both sides of the throne. No, something intangible, rather, something which ran between the silences.
Gray walked in, his muddy boots dirtying the velvet green carpet underneath. He heard a man on the council tut, his voice echoing, but he continued to walk, right up to the throne. Two guards blocked his advent, boneguns raised and ready. Gray looked at the figure seated above him, the man who was watching him just as intently.
Tall, heavily built, a bald pate, a Norse beard covering most of the face. A small nose, but sharp, cruel cheekbones, and bushy eyebrows to match the black beard. The eyes small, pushed back into the skull, devoid of light. A nobleman’s robes, with a large fur cloak draped around his shoulders. A greatsword resting by his side.
Drake waited for him to bow, but Gray showed no signs, so the Sea Lord spoke.
‘It is you?’ he asked. He had a hard, dry voice, one befitting his countenance.
‘I answer to my calling card,’ Gray said, putting on his toughest face.
‘You’re too young. You’re a mere boy!’ Drake exclaimed, eyes wider than before.
‘Yet I imagine I have ended more bloodsuckers than anyone in this city of yours,’ Gray said. He was glad a beard had slowly grown on his cheeks, a fine white beard, but a beard nonetheless.
Drake gestured, and an attendant handed him Gray’s calling card again. He scanned it with cold eyes. It had four words.
Aan Cripen. Vampire Hunter.
‘Aan Cripen. I have not heard of you,’ Drake said, playing with the card, his eyes fixed on Gray.
Gray smirked. ‘Your good fortune.’
‘Why do you call yourself The Cripple?’
Gray swept his travelling cloak back with his good arm, revealing the stump, the long sleeve tied up in a knot. Soft whispers erupted in the court.
‘One armed? You kill vampires with one arm?’
‘I do not beg you to believe me, Sea Lord.’
‘Impressive,’ Drake said slowly. ‘Impressive.’
Gray’s heart leapt. Perhaps, just perhaps.
‘So why do you send me your card, Cripen?’
Gray exhaled loudly, feigning impatience. ‘A deadly creature has entered your city. It hunts every night. More deaths will lead to civil unrest. Your lawkeepers are no good in this case, they do not know this beast as I do. They will only add to the body count. Hire me and I shall kill this beast for you.’
‘Interesti
ng,’ Drake muttered. ‘And how much should you charge?’
‘I have been tracking two vampires,’ Gray said, his heart pounding as he put on a face of stone and casually said aloud what he had been practising for three days. ‘One is in Frozen Bombay, and seems to like it here. The other has fled to Zaleb Hel. I wish you to lift the sea trade ban so I may pursue it there. That will be payment enough.’
‘This gets even more interesting, Cripen,’ Drake said. He was smiling now, and Gray did not like it. ‘Zaleb Hel. Very interesting. How do I know you did not bring the vampires to my city yourself?’
You’re so close to the truth, Gray thought. ‘Because I do not ask for money. I do not hunt these bastards for money.’
‘A lot of hate,’ Drake said.
‘I have my reasons.’
‘Cannot just be the loss of the arm, then,’ Drake said loudly. ‘This decision, however, is not mine to take. I am but a slave to the people, Cripen, governing in their stead. And my people are now scared of this vampire, this beast you seem to know so well. Thus it is by the people’s decree that you are hereby hired to kill this beast. I cannot lift the ban, but I will give you a boat, and you may row to Zaleb Hel yourself, if you can row with your single arm.’
Yes! Gray nodded, grim outwards.
‘However, I shall require proof of your kill,’ Drake said.
‘They turn to ashes when killed,’ Gray said. ‘I can bring you its dust.’
‘One can buy vampire dust for thirty silvers in the Bazaar,’ Drake said. ‘And if you are gone and the attacks continue, I cannot find you again. No, you must lop off the head of the beast before you pierce its heart. You must bring me its head.’
Gray’s heart sank, but there weren’t many options. Drake knew the intricacies of vampire death. It would be unwise to test the waters further.
‘You shall have your head,’ Gray barked with plain displeasure. ‘Though it will make my job harder.’
‘I must do my job too, Cripen,’ Drake replied. ‘The people will need to see the head.’
And the meeting with the Sea Lord was over. Perhaps sooner than anticipated. There were many, many things troubling Gray, and as he walked out of the palace and down the steps, he added more. Why must everything be so difficult? He remembered the Old Kolkata romp, one quest leading to another, a thousand and one tiny diversions for the sake of the main objective. The same thing was happening here, had been happening all this while. He cursed Maya for leaving, no sympathy in his thoughts now. She wasn’t going to find any other solution. What options were even there? Demon Commander Ba’al hadn’t opposed their course of action—to him it had seemed like the most viable thing to do. Ba’al had also talked about the mysterious Game, whatever it was, all parts of a giant puzzle. Maya could at best fit another piece, but Gray knew there was only one answer to all of this, only one way to prevent the coming of the Apocalypse.
Killing the Horsemen.
They would have to be killed somehow, all four of them. Adri Sen needed a body not just because he was akshouthur, but also because the Tantric was the only one who could resume his quest of finding something powerful enough to kill Death, and then the others. There was also something else, another itch that needed scratching—the complete and absolute absence of the Horsemen.
Victor Sen had said they were hunting for the newly found akshouthur, but that did not make sense to Gray. Death would still hunt Adri, Death would be enraged enough to ravage Frozen Bombay in its search for the Tantric, for them. Death had been fooled, not a minor insult. Gray remembered the roar they had heard. Death’s cry had been a promise. Where was Death? Where were the other Horsemen? It did not fit. Something, somewhere was not right. And the Keeper! The Keeper was so close! He was within arm’s reach, he and the secret to giving Adri his body back. Adri needed to come back, Gray could relax a little bit then. Just a little.
It took him hours to reach the settlement; Drake, unsurprisingly, lived far away from the factories. The streets were empty, almost everyone working away. Gray knocked on the door angrily. Zabrielle answered.
‘Did it not go well?’ she asked, as Gray strode in.
‘Too well,’ Gray replied. ‘But now Drake wants the head of the vampire as proof.’ He looked at Fayne. ‘Interested in a donation?’
‘A minor obstacle,’ Fayne said. ‘We just have to hunt down a real vampire.’
‘Fayne. The only vampires I’ve met so far tried to kill my sister. Where are we going to find vampires in Frozen Bombay?’
‘Trappers,’ Fayne said.
Zabrielle nodded. ‘There are trappers in the markets, selling animal skins, fur. They travel outside the city to hunt. They will know.’
‘Well, we better get to it immediately,’ Gray said, though he was unsure about this new development.
‘I’m still zakhmi, myrkho. Not well,’ Fayne said. ‘Humans may be easy to hunt, but I will not be at my full capacity against a vampire.’
‘That hasn’t stopped you before,’ Gray said.
‘There is a development,’ Fayne said after hesitation. He pulled at one of his daggers. The hilt came out in his hand. Without the blade at its end.
‘What?’ Gray exclaimed in disbelief.
Fayne told him of the blood curse’s mutation then, adding that he knew he should have come clear earlier. ‘It has morphed to a new extent, and robbed me of my daggers.’
Gray knew it was worse than it sounded. Fayne would still be skilled with a sword that they could easily buy off the market—but Fayne’s blood had anti-life, a powerful essence that was well rounded in finishing enemies of all kinds. Now they would have to find something else to kill vampires with, something specific.
‘What of your weakness?’ he asked, serious.
‘Manageable,’ Fayne replied.
‘You said this was supposed to strengthen you,’ Zabrielle said. ‘Why does it disarm you instead?’
‘This is a phase,’ Fayne said. ‘It means that my blood is preparing a new kind of weapon.’
Gray, however, could neither depend on speculation, nor wait for Fayne’s blood curse to strengthen the assassin. Fayne had mentioned that it had happened before, but this time it was taking far too long. That same evening, he and Zabrielle went to find a trapper. The problem was that most trappers were reserved men, loners who hunted for their own survival and sustenance; it was not easy to exact information from such men. There was also the fact that Drake should not get to know about this—thus they were wary of being followed and extremely careful about whom to broach the conversation with.
They travelled the thin streets of Chembur where the trappers put up their tents. Most of the trappers had colourful names, animal skulls and trophies mounted on boards outside their tents to show off their wares. Gray’s attention went to a tent unlike all the others—it had a jar kept on a table outside the entry, a jar with a vapour in it that swirled, forming shapes. Gray paused to look at the fine blue smoke change into a wolf, then a hyena, then a crocodile. The jar was small, and the tent had no other decorations or signs.
Gray nodded to Zabrielle, and they entered, lifting the tent flap. There were a few tables with small trinkets on display. Miniatures, fashioned from different bones, fused together. There was a fish, an owl, even a dragon. They were terribly intricate, beautiful, but Gray did not have time for these things.
‘Hello,’ he said, approaching the trapper sitting in one corner of the tent.
‘Hello,’ the trapper nodded. He was a small man, looking for all the world like a watch maker or a goldsmith.
‘You made these?’ Zabrielle asked.
‘Yes, Ma’am,’ he said.
‘These are beautiful. One feels tempted, but my moving around would break it. One’s home is far.’
‘It’s what most of them say.’
‘Are you a trapper?’ Gray asked.
‘Another question I get often. You see, sir, the bones comprising one object are all from different animals. The little
bear in front of you, for example, it has the sesamoid of a tiger, the flats of a beserker, most of the irregulars and shorts from a jackal. There’s also part of an ethmoid in there, belonging to an afreet. No, I do not trap and kill animals. I accompany trappers instead, and scavenge enough for my work. Most of the bones are discarded, and they become my ingredients.’ He said it very quickly, a practiced speech.
‘Where did you find the afreet?’ Zabrielle asked, eyebrows raised.
‘They appear sometimes at night. The skilled trappers kill them with elaborate traps, their skin sells for a lot.’
‘What about vampires? Ever come across those?’ Gray asked.
‘Did you just walk into the city?’ the man asked, eyes narrowed, tone immediately colder. ‘We’re being terrorised by one.’
Gray sighed. ‘Very well. I’ll let you in on this.’ He extended his calling card to the trapper, who took it. ‘Told you we should have flashed the ID first thing,’ he told Zabrielle. The trapper went through the card expressionlessly.
‘You’ve been hired to kill it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Thank Fen! About time Drake did something about this. I don’t even have doors to lock, I live in this tent.’ He stood up. ‘Do you need my help?’
‘You understand this is a secret investigation,’ Gray said loftily. ‘The words we exchange here are never to be repeated.’
The trapper nodded.
‘It isn’t staying inside the city,’ Gray continued. ‘Every night it goes somewhere outside, to a brood, I suspect. You wouldn’t know any places which harbour such beings close by, would you?’
Well put, Zabrielle thought.
‘Oh!’ the trapper said, excited. ‘I know the very place this bastard is hiding in, sir! It must be the Hollow!’
‘And where is this Hollow?’
‘About ten miles southwest from Thane. The White Watchman can point out the direction. It is a bad region, the trappers avoid it.’
‘We’ll be sure to check it out, then. Thank you, my good man.’ Gray paid him silver for his silence, and they left.
‘That was brilliant,’ Zabrielle said.
Gray couldn’t help but feel pleased. ‘I have my moments.’
Horsemen of Old Page 27
