Thief of the Ancients

by Mike Wild

  Because just as she thought it was over, the hooded man entered the room. The same stranger that on that storm-lashed night had taken her from this place and given her into the care of Red.

  He bent over her, and she saw his face.

  And it was the face of Merrit Moon.

  Merrit Moon.

  No! she screamed inside her head. The image – the memory – was so unexpected, so sudden, so startling, that she couldn’t shed herself of it, and as a result couldn’t trust herself not to speak his name. The only way – the only way – to beat Munch’s drugs was to make herself forget the face, but how – how – could she possibly forget what she’d just seen?

  She had to do something.

  She cared too much about Merrit to reveal him.

  She had to end Munch’s flight of fancy. Now!

  There was only one thing she could do. Kali rammed her ankles, wrists and neck into the collar’s pins, hoping the pain would drop her into a state of oblivion from which even Fitch would be unable to bring her back. Through her agony, she felt him pulling at her, but that only made her the more intent, and instead of simply impaling herself on the pins she began to tug herself to the left and right as much as the collars would allow, letting the pins tear into her flesh, to rip it from her in jagged strips. The pain was excruciating and she felt as if her body was on fire, and her flesh was slick now with her own blood, but still she carried on, roaring not with pain but with unslacking determination. And, at last, she began to feel numb.

  She heard distant, echoing curses. And then hands were pulling quickly and roughly at her restraints.

  “Damn her,” she heard someone say, and realised it had to be Munch. What followed made no sense. “Did you get it? Did you get it?”

  “I believe so. But I will need time to absorb what I have.”

  “Gah! Make it quick.”

  Kali sighed, and someone took her, then. The collars released, she found herself being lifted from the chair, the room canting at strange angles around her. The figures of Munch and Querilous Fitch were merely blurs, as ghostly in their appearance as their disembodied voices were haunting. She heard the sound of doors opening, saw dark outlines looming, and realised she was being escorted through the underground of the cathedral. But that couldn’t be right, surely, because as she moved she caught glimpses of bright lights, of lots of people, of activity that surely did not belong where she was. Had they taken her somewhere else, then, as she slipped between consciousness and delirium – somewhere where she could hear orders being barked, the sound of factory machines, the bustle of an army at work? Or perhaps she imagined it, because now those things were gone, and she was being led down a stairway that spiralled down before her, where it was quieter and darker and colder than even the chamber had been. Other faces swam before her now, peering at her through hatches in doors, faces that were bearded and straggly and desperate, and one that for a fleeting second she thought she recognised but couldn’t possibly have. Some degree of awareness was returning now, and Kali realised she was in a corridor of cells, and even in the state she was in, one thing was clear – these faces she saw, leering out at her, these faces and their owners, they had been here a long time and, if she didn’t do something right now, so would she be too.

  She broke free of her captors and ran, lurching like a drunk, for the end of the cell corridor, to a ventilation shaft set into the wall. As deep and as doomed as they were, the prisoners here still had to breathe, and with a little luck the shaft would reach all the way to the surface. She leapt for a rung that was set just above the hole, and missed. She tried once more and this time found herself slumping down against the wall.

  It was no good, the wounds on her ankles and wrists coupled with the loss of blood had left her too weak.

  She could do nothing but capitulate as her captors loomed and roughly pulled her up.

  Exhaustion overwhelmed her, then. All she remembered was being thrown into a cold, dark cell, and the door being slammed tightly shut behind her. Time passed, and then someone entered her cell and bandaged her wounds.

  She slept, without any idea of for how long. And when she awoke, she heard singing.

  But it was not the singing she had heard upstairs.

  And of all the things that had happened to her in the last few weeks, it was by far the most disturbing.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THAT VOICE, KALI thought. It couldn’t be. Not him. Oh gods, please tell me it isn’t him! Tell me it isn’t. But the seconds passed and, as had always been the case, the gods didn’t tell her anything at all, and she thought: It is, isn’t it? There couldn’t be any doubt. That voice, that tune, those lyrics.

  Gods preserve her, those lyrics.

  She felt a dizzying swoon that was almost a panic. As the cell seemed to heat up and flex around her, she tried to shut her brain down but it was no good. And as the song concluded, she just couldn’t help herself. It was like being some small, furry creature, its ears erect, transfixed by the sound of an oncoming cart, oblivious to the rumbling wheels of doom. She just had to listen.

  “...so ever since I’ve been in a stupor.

  Because of that lass named Kali Hoooooper.”

  A tin cup rattled on the bars of a cell door somewhere down the corridor. “For the sake of everything that’s holy, will you please stop!” a desperate voice yelled.

  “Wait – I think he has. Steaming pits, that was worse than the mangling room,” said another.

  “Something... I need something to stab my eardrums.”

  There was a very long, unappreciated sigh that echoed off the stone walls. “Fine,” its owner said sulkily. “Just trying to cheer everyone up, that’s all.”

  “We’re cheerful, honestly!” someone cried, and then laughed manically, as if to prove it. “Really, really cheerful.”

  “Is it over? Oh, thank Kerberos... I feel I’ve been reborn.”

  Kali ignored the voices. Her heart thudding, she moved beneath the small grille that linked her cell to the next, from where the singing had come. She stretched and curled her fingers over its lip and then pulled herself up with a grunt, her soles skittering on the stonework below. It was something of a strain and her arms trembled with the effort, but as long as she held her grip she could see through the bars.

  In the cell next door, there was a man wearing nothing but his undershorts. Just sitting there in the middle of the floor, with his legs folded, picking his teeth with a rockroach leg. Lean and muscular with an unkempt thatch of blond hair, many might have confused him with some debonair lord or playboy type, but she knew that nothing could actually be further from the truth.

  Kali dropped back down, shook her head, took a breath, then heaved herself back up, unable to believe it.

  The man looked up.

  “Hello, Kali,” he said.

  Kali stared.

  “’Liam,” she said slowly and dubiously, in response.

  “How are you doing?” he said, as casually as if they had bumped into each other on Freiport high street.

  Kali’s voice quavered with the strain of hanging on. “Ohhhh, you know...”

  “Yeah.”

  “You?”

  “Oh, fine, just fine.”

  There was a pause.

  “So...”

  “So...”

  “Here we are.”

  “Yep. Here we are.”

  Kali dropped down again, and blinked. She knew full well what she had just seen but she couldn’t shake herself of the conviction that it was impossible. The last time she had seen Killiam Slowhand – she slammed her eyes shut with a cringe, blanking out the details – had been on the Sarcre Islands, and that had been over two years earlier. After that night, he had seemingly vanished off the face of Twilight.

  That night, she thought again.

  Anger bubbled inside her, and she clambered back up, yelping as she saw Slowhand directly in front of her, working away at the grille to loosen it. “What the hells are
you doing here, Slowhand? Come to rescue me again?”

  “Nope.”

  “Stop grinning at me inanely.”

  “Can’t help it. But it’s still nope.”

  Kali gestured through the grille, indicating his cell, or rather his imprisonment therein. “Why are you here, then? It is me, I know it is – you heard I’d been taken by the Faith so got yourself taken to give me a helping hand!”

  “You are unbelievable,” Slowhand said, continuing to work at the metal. “Hooper, believe it or not some of the time I don’t think about you at all.”

  “I’m hurt. Also vastly relieved.” Kali’s eyes narrowed. “So what the hells are you doing here? Don’t tell me the great Killiam Slowhand was bettered by the Final Faith?”

  “I have them where they want me. I mean, they have me where I... Oh hells, never mind.”

  “You were, weren’t you! They caught you!”

  “On purpose, all right?”

  “What? Why in the gods’ names would you want to do that?”

  Slowhand sighed heavily. “Because I wanted to look around. See what really goes on behind the scenes with the Final Faith.”

  “From one of their cells?”

  “Nooooo, not from one of their cells.” He shrugged. “Well, not in the way you mean, anyway. Stand back.”

  Slowhand punched the grille out of its mounting and Kali instinctively caught it with an oof before it could clang to the floor. Damn, she thought, we still make a great team whether I like it or not.

  But this was still going a little fast for her. She had no idea what was going on.

  “Okaaay,” she said. “So, what’s that achieved? No, wait, don’t tell me – you’re going to escape from your cell into mine. Brilliant!”

  “I see the wit hasn’t deserted you,” Slowhand said, wearily. “No, Hooper – it’s the other way round. You’re going to escape from your cell into mine.”

  “What?” Kali let the information sink in. “O-hoh, no, no, no,” she replied forcefully, looking at herself still in the vest and pants in which she’d awoken upstairs. “If you think you’re going to get me in a six foot square cell while we’re both wearing nothing but our knickers you’ve another think coming. This isn’t –”

  “Because the way out is in my cell.”

  Kali stopped. She had to admit that had nonplussed her.

  “You have a way out?”

  Slowhand grinned broadly. “A-ha. Or, to be more accurate, have had a way out for the last week and a half I’ve been here. I’ve had to time it with the guard patrols, of course, but, an hour here, an hour there, it’s allowed me to have a pretty good look around. Enough, in fact, to make tonight time to go. The escape route’s a... little problematic but even in your state you should be able to manage it. So... excellent timing.”

  Her state, Kali thought. The odd thing was, she had already begun to wonder what her state was. She felt much better than she had when she’d first been dumped in the cell, better, in fact, than anyone who’d endured what she had had any right to feel. She had been here – what? – well, the truth was she didn’t know – but surely not that long, and she already felt more than well on the road to recovery. She was tempted to look beneath her bandages but now wasn’t really the time. Things had turned strange enough already.

  “One tiny problem with your master plan,” Kali said. “I’ll never squeeze through that hole.”

  “Course you will. From what I’ve seen you’ve lost quite a bit of weight lately.”

  “Excuse me? Are you saying I was fat?”

  “No! Great gods and pits of Kerberos, no. It’s just that – well, you seem to have lost a bit of the puppy fat you had. You seem a lot more... lithe.”

  “Lithe?” Kali repeated. She thought again of her recovery. “Yes, well, I do seem to have developed something of a faster metabolism these days...”

  “There you go, then,” Slowhand said. He winked. “Besides, if nothing else it’ll be fun to watch.”

  “Fun to watch,” Kali repeated. “Wait a minute. Killiam Slowhand, have you been watching me in my cell? Lying here in a dungeon, in my underwear?”

  Slowhand threw his hands in the air. “Of course I have, woman! Who wouldn’t? No, I mean, how else was I to know you were there? And I – I wanted to know you were all ri –” He stopped suddenly, changed the subject. “Hey, if you’re worried about getting through the grille, why don’t you smear yourself with oil?”

  “I don’t have any oil.”

  “Damn! I’ll just do my best to imagine it, then.”

  “Slowhand...”

  “Fine, fine. Okay, look. The guards are going to change shift in fifteen minutes so if you’re going to do this, Hooper, do it now. Or I leave you here.”

  Kali let out an exasperated growl and leapt for the opening, pulling herself up and then forwards on her stomach, her hands gripping the lip of the gap on Slowhand’s side. It was a tight squeeze, but with a helping hand from Slowhand she made it through, flipping unsteadily into his cell and then, involuntarily, into his arms.

  Slowhand grinned broadly. “Been a while.”

  “Don’t even thi –” Kali began, and then stopped. “Whoa, hold on a second here,” she said. “Killiam Slowhand, are you wearing make-up?”

  Slowhand slid his fingers to that part of his neck which Kali stared at, and they came away smeared with greasepaint he had missed when cleaning himself up. It was amazing how long that stuff stuck around.

  “Actually, yes,” he admitted. “But it’s not what you think.”

  “Really? And what do I think?”

  “Knowing you, gods only know,” Slowhand responded. He took an extravagant bow and added by way of explanation, “Killiam Slowhand’s Final Filth – Every Hour On The Hour. Ta daaaa.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Kali said. “You’ve become a troubadour?” She couldn’t help herself – she started to giggle.

  “Hey, a guy’s got to earn a crust somehow,” Slowhand said, feigning hurt. “Besides, you’d be astounded the places being a travelling player gets you.”

  “Oh, that’s it – it’s all to do with getting in here, isn’t it?” Kali said.

  Suddenly her smile faded and it was Slowhand’s turn to study her up close. He whistled, looking concerned. “Pits, they really did a number on you, didn’t they?” He stretched out a hand to stroke her cheek, but Kali pulled away, hesitated before speaking.

  “’Liam... one of them... some bastard called Munch... he killed Horse.”

  “What? Oh, hells. Oh, hells, Kal, I’m so sorry.” Slowhand’s jaw tightened and pulsed, and for a second his eyes went distant, as though remembering – and noting – something. “I know how much the old nag meant to you.”

  “The old man, he doesn’t know yet.”

  “The old man? Oh, you mean Merrit Moon. You haven’t told him?”

  Kali shook her head. “He left for the mountains. To dispose of a key.”

  Slowhand pushed her to arm’s length. “This key. It wouldn’t be anything to do with the reason Makennon had you interrogated, would it?”

  “The only reason. Whatever the thing is, it’s important to her.”

  Slowhand sighed. “So I’ve been told. Look, it’s going to be a few minutes before we’re ready to move, and, in case you hadn’t noticed, before then I’m a captive audience. So why don’t you tell me all about it?”

  Kali did, telling everything, including the find, the old man’s reaction to it, everything, including the first and second vision, the one that had resulted in her being here. Slowhand took the news of a clanking army wading through a sea of blood in reasonable stride because, like her, he had seen some things. In turn, he told her about the scrolls Makennon had tried to woo him with – the images of the Old Races and the keys that were somehow meant to be the Faith’s destiny – but after both of them were done, they were none the wiser.

  Slowhand listened to the activity outside the cell. “Sounds like you have
things to do,” he said. “So how about we get you out of here?”

  Kali looked around the cell, noting that its interior was exactly the same as her own had been, presenting the same obstructions to liberty she had faced. “About that,” she enquired. “Just what is it you have in mind?”

  Slowhand pointed to the lock in the door, and then, disturbingly, to his shorts, which shimmered slightly. “Krunt scale,” he said, proudly. “The humble krunt’s greatest weapon in the survival of the fittest.” Kali looked blank and he sighed, explaining as he might to a five-year-old. “Krunts are native to the waters of the Stormwall, Hooper – their scales are polarised to repel stormbolts. That means they, themselves, are magnetised.”

  “They also make good butties, Slowhand. So?”

  Slowhand pulled a face. “So,” he declared, “they’re pitsing uncomfortable to wear but very handy when it comes to manipulating tumblers.” He pointed at the lock again, this time with some exaggeration.

  Kali couldn’t do anything but stare. “Let me get this straight. You’ve been opening this lock with your... underpants?”

  “A-ha,” Slowhand said, smiling.

  Kali shook her head. “Oh gods,” she said. Then the full implications of what he was saying struck her. “Oh gods, Slowhand, don’t you dare!”

  But it was too late. Slowhand was already pulling them down over his hips, and she spun quickly away.

  “Pits – why does everything you do have to involve you somehow getting naked?”

  “Don’t know. Maybe it’s my destiny.”

  “Just get on with it.”

  “Right,” Slowhand said quickly. As he spoke, he stuffed his underwear into the keyhole, forcing it through with his finger, and then stretched an arm through the bars of the door to grab what came through on the other side. He then twisted his shorts into a tight roll and began to pull them back and forth, his face pained by the angle at which he stood, but humming as he worked.

  Kali could hear tumblers rolling in their housing. She didn’t even want to think about what Slowhand looked like. Definitely, definitely didn’t want to loo –