The Limbs of the Dead (A Wielders Novel Book 3)

by Max Anthony

  Seeing an opening, Skulks feinted one way, before making his bid for freedom the other. His plan was scuppered through bad luck. Just as he thought he was past the creature, a couple of hurled legs sailed nearby, one of them catching his boot and causing him to stumble. At once, the mound was upon him - four arms snatched him up and dragged him into the greater mass. It was cold and it stank, but Skulks was more concerned that parts of his own dead body might soon be stitched somewhere in here with the other unfortunate limbs.

  “If I die, I hope my head isn’t stitched next to an arse,” he thought as he stabbed at a nearby buttock with a dagger-sword.

  Fortunately, both of his arms were more or less free and he was able to stab left and right, cutting through flesh and stitches as he did so. Bits fell away, but two more arms grabbed him and he noticed with dread that one of these arms appeared to be from a baboon, in spite of all the others being human. Sure enough, the baboon arm descended upon his boots, pulling them free. Skulks kicked out frantically, his movement curtailed by the five other arms trying to squeeze him lifeless.

  Knowing that the baboon arm’s next target would be his trousers, Skulks did the only thing he could. Twisting, he burrowed deeper into the mound, away from the rapacious baboon arm with its designs on his new trousers given so generously to him by Captain Honey. Wriggling his body like a worm, Skulks delivered a vicious butt to a severed head which tried to bite his nose as he squirmed away. More arms grasped at him, crushing, squeezing and tearing. Knowing he was done for, Skulks shouted in anger, his Wielding sending out a command, though he knew not what for.

  Determined to do as much damage as he could, Skulks stabbed, sliced and chopped. His dagger-swords cut through the dead flesh with ease, but the mound was too large for him to dismember quickly enough to stop it from strangling its Wielder prey. More hands latched onto him, one of them forcing two fingers into his mouth as he drew air into his lungs. He bit the fingers off and spat them out, tasting a mixture of embalming fluid and overcooked chicken. Meanwhile, another hand pulled out a clump of his hair, as yet another performed a vicious nip-and-twist on his upper arm. Weakening under the assault, Skulks felt his vision dim as a severed hand boxed one of his ears and a further hand took hold of his windpipe. Curiously free of panic, Skulks’ mind conjured forth a vision of a tunnel. At the end of this tunnel, there was a light, though as the dying Skulks stared at it he saw it was not a light, but a beautiful diamond - flawless, pure white and larger than any gem he’d ever seen. His hand reached out for it, eager fingers almost, almost close enough to touch it. Just as his hand was about to claim this most wonderful of prizes, the vision faded from him. His mind cried out in futile frustration as the diamond vanished.

  “No!” screamed Skulks as he returned to the land of the living, his plaintive cry redolent with misery and hurt. “Take me back!” he whimpered softly, before his survival instincts took control and forced him to open his eyes.

  He coughed a few times, then realised that there were no more hands at his throat or pulling at his trousers. Something was lying across his face and he lifted it away, finding it to be a leg. It bent feebly at the knee as he threw it from him. Pulling himself half upright, he looked at what could only be described as carnage. The animated body-mound was no more. It looked like it had been pulled forcibly to pieces and those pieces had been thrown to all corners of the room. Some of the limbs were no longer moving, but a few still twitched and jerked feebly. They appeared to lack direction and showed no signs of scuttling in his direction in order to resume their assault. Lying to one side of it all, Skulks saw something looking at him with eyes still living, but free of expression.

  “Chibbles!” he cried out, limping over to the remains of the clockwork monkey. It was in a very sorry state, bent and twisted. Springs had been pulled out and wires snapped. One leg and one arm remained attached, simian hand limp and unresponsive.

  “Oh Chibbles, you splendid friend!” said Skulks, clutching the remains of the monkey to his chest and rocking it backwards and forwards. “I’ll get you fixed in no time!” he told it. As he looked down, he saw that Chibbles would not be fixed, for it was too badly damaged by the body-mound it had rescued Skulks from. The living eyes closed and Chibbles was no more.

  Eight

  On this night, it wasn’t only No.115, The Docks which was to play host to the dead. The door to the Blind Carpenter tavern was pushed open and a figure shuffled in. The room fell silent for a moment, before two ladies and a gentleman let forth shrieks from their respective tables. The figure lurched to the bar, gasping and wheezing in its tattered rags as it limped across the room.

  “What can I get you?” asked the bar keep.

  “Two mugs of The Demon Seamstress, please,” said Skulks as the hubbub returned to the room.

  By the time the second mug had vanished down his gullet, Skulks felt considerably more alive than dead. He ordered the late-evening special at a cost of twelve Slivers and sat down at a table to stuff pieces of rare steak and onion into his mouth, mopping the juices up with hunks of bread torn from the accompanying loaf.

  Though he’d entered the basement of No.115, The Docks with a mere eight Slivers in his pocket, he’d left the house with over four hundred, having discovered a hefty silk purse on top of a shelf in the kitchen. He had his Thief’s Senses to thank for their discovery, as he’d really lacked the energy to go looking for coin.

  When the food entered his stomach, he could feel its life-giving energy coursing through his veins. The most prominent bruises faded and his cuts slowly forced themselves closed. His ear still looked ragged and would do so for another few days. Reflecting on the matter ruefully, Skulks realised that he’d lost more parts of his body in the last few weeks than he had in the preceding hundred years.

  “Perhaps I’d been getting soft and lazy,” he thought to himself. “Always looking for the easy targets and looking the other way when there was a harder one.” While there was possibly an element of truth in this, he reminded himself that he hadn’t been shy in making a number of difficult decisions recently. Not hugely knowledgeable on the subject of introspection, but learning rapidly, Skulks put the matter to one side for the moment. He had more important issues to attend to.

  “Another of the late-evening specials, please!” he called out to the bar keep. “And another mug of ale.”

  Satisfied that the man had understood his instructions, Skulks pulled the papers from his pocket that he’d taken from the table in the basement. His confidence that they’d contain everything he needed to know was shattered when he read them.

  “More recipes?” he exclaimed in dismay as he leafed through the pages. One thing did catch his eye though and he spent a moment scanning through it. “Aha!” he announced loudly, smiling broadly at the enlightenment contained on the sheet. “So that’s how I stop my sconey cakes from going hard in the middle!”

  Squirreling this culinary secret away in his head for later, Skulks glanced up as the bar keep arrived with the second order of food. As the man laid the food on the table, he contemplated Skulks in puzzlement.

  “You looked a lot more battered when you came in here,” said the man. “Almost like you were dead.”

  “I had just left work at the mortuary,” said Skulks, lying through his teeth. “It is said that the longer you work there, the more you look like the dead.”

  “Really?” asked the barman, eyebrows raising two notches up his forehead.

  “It is true,” said Skulks. “Some of the men and women who work there look more dead than the customers, though a meal and a good night’s sleep is usually sufficient to bring one round. I’ve only worked there for three weeks, so I imagine I look quite healthy compared to some of my colleagues.”

  Thanking his lucky stars that he worked in a tavern, the bar keep left Skulks to his meal and headed off to serve the next customer. Watching the man at his work, Skulks ate his second meal with slightly more deliberation than he had the first one.
He thought over the events of the night and how he had almost come a cropper to the horrid pile of sewn-together limbs. Near-death experiences weren’t new to him, but tonight was the first time he’d seen a diamond, or indeed any other precious item.

  “Was it a prize to compensate for my death?” he asked himself. “Or was it nothing more than an image conjured up by my addled brain as my body was strangled? Could it have been a message telling me that I need to steal a diamond in order to show the worth of life over death?”

  He decided not to spend any further time wondering about it. Certainly, he was alive now, so the diamond, as lust-worthy as it was, would have to wait for another day - a day he would do his best to ensure would never come if the claiming thereof involved his demise. As he pondered, he was reminded of life’s frailties when he burped again, the taste of flowers and cheese, rather than steak and onions, coming into his mouth. Skulks turned his head to one side and blew the vapour into the unoccupied air of the tavern.

  “How many other people have I afflicted with unwanted sleep?” he wondered. It wasn’t like he was walking around the city burping in everyone’s face, so maybe only Doris Grumps, Heathen Spout and a small number of others had been affected. He hoped so anyway, because he already felt responsible for the thirsty dead and the killing of Pumper. To add to his misery, Chibbles was now no more after its brave sacrifice to save its Wielder master. Not wishing to wallow, wallowing not being in his nature, and knowing that there was little more he could accomplish tonight, Skulks ordered another cup of ale to cheer himself up. He nursed it for some time before he went home to catch a few hours’ sleep.

  He woke early the next morning, feeling refreshed and with a certainty as to the next step he should take. Generally, Skulks did not think too far ahead - planning his single next action was usually sufficient for him to feel that he had ample to do until it was done. He left his modest house and made his way to the barracks. Although Captain Honey was busy, Skulks arrived early enough to catch her before she become embroiled in the daily rigmarole of leading Hardened’s rapidly-expanding armed forces.

  “Good morning, Captain Skulks,” said she, brightening at his arrival. “Have you any news for me?” She looked tired, for she loved her mother and had spent most of the night fretting.

  “I am making progress but have reached a temporary dead-end, which I am hopeful you will be able to help me escape.” Captain Honey looked slightly disappointed that he as yet had no concrete news for her.

  “What can I help you with?” she asked.

  “During my night-time investigations, I found myself in the house of a person I suspect has created the green concoction in the vial we have discussed.” As he said this, he drew the vial from his pocket in pointless reminder. “Though this person was most assiduous in leaving no traces of their details in the house, they did leave behind clues in the form of my very own hand, which attacked me with the intention of strangling the life from me! In addition, the head of the arch-wizard Tiopan Lunder was present, scuttling about on spider legs and it bit me upon the rump!” At the memory, Skulks found his hand gingerly rubbing his posterior as if it pained him anew.

  “Did it also bite your ear?” asked Honey, looking at him with concern. “And rip out some of your hair?”

  “It did and a number of its cohorts have done their level best to ruin these fine new clothes which you kindly purchased for me during the recent Wizards’ Convention.” He looked down at his rent clothing, feeling guilty that it had hardly lasted two minutes.

  “Don’t worry about the clothes, Tan, I will find you some more.” She lowered her brows in thought. “It is perturbing that you were attacked by your hand, which I took to the city mortuary for storage and destruction. It was to the same mortuary that I had the body and head of Tiopan Lunder carried.”

  “I would be grateful if you could provide me with directions to this mortuary, for it seems to be the next place that I should visit.” Having been told where he could find the city mortuary, Skulks stood up to leave.

  “I am doing my best to bring this matter to a swift and safe closure!” he said to Captain Honey. “I admire good Ladies Grumps and Spout and I will not see them come to greater harm!” Captain Honey smiled wanly at him.

  “I know you are the best man to get to the bottom of it all,” she told him as he left her barracks office.

  Nine

  Walking with the purposeful stride of a man on important business, Tan Skulks crossed the city in the direction of the Hardened mortuary. At this early hour, the streets were more crowded than Skulks was used to, since he was generally abroad after the morning rush. Using his elbows more than diplomacy permitted, he jostled his way along a number of thoroughfares and byways, hoping to reach the mortuary as quickly as possible.

  Though he was employed by the city as head of its Office of Covert Operations, Skulks soon found himself twenty-two Slivers richer, with one street in particular being so crowded that the coins almost fell into his palms as he barged his way along the pavement. This theft was almost certainly a sacking offense, but Skulks reasoned to himself that he was head of his office, while it was his hands that were doing the stealing. Why should his head be held responsible for the actions of his hands, he asked himself? Even though a tiny part of his mind piped up to let him know that his justifications were thoroughly reprehensible, by the time he had done a mental evaluation of his crimes and found himself guilty, the victims were long-since lost in the throng behind him. Wishing to absolve himself of his misdeeds, Skulks tipped his misbegotten Slivers into the hands of a scrawny-looking young girl in rags, who promptly ran to the nearest confectioners and spent them all on Barley Twists and sugared plums.

  The mortuary was a grim, grey slab of a building, befitting its status as a contents-box of misery. A few buildings adjoined it, constructed by some of the braver employees who used the reputation of the morgue to make themselves houses of some exclusivity, though notoriety may have been a more accurate description. Either way, there were sufficient benefits from living next-door to their place of work for these industrious employees to build themselves a home.

  Skulks entered the mortuary through its wide front-door. He thought that the door was far wider than it needed to be, little knowing that the mortuary had at one time also been used for the storage of dead livestock during the summer months, to take advantage of the morgue’s refrigeration facilities. This practise had long-since been stopped - no-one liked to find a butchered cow’s haunch coming out of the front door whilst one was going in to look at the body of one’s dearest and recently-deceased mother-in-law.

  Inside it was chilly, with many of the walls built from magically-imbued blocks which were created to retain the cold. A lone man sat behind the reception counter. He looked up at Skulks’ approach.

  “What can I do for you?” the receptionist asked, his tone inappropriately cheery. He was wearing a false moustache of a style which was all the rage this week.

  “I am told that the body of a certain Tiopan Lunder was brought here,” Skulks said.

  “Tiopan Lunder?” The man made a play of trying to remember the name. “I don’t recall that one. Let me check my list. Are you a relative?”

  “Yes,” said Skulks with certainty. Though he was definitely not related to Lunder, he felt like he knew the wizard well enough to be almost related, so really this wasn’t a lie as such. Unable to settle for a simple mistruth when a ridiculously extravagant one was available, Skulks continued. “He was my father.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that,” said the man without interest as he continued to scan the list of recent arrivals. Skulks didn’t blame the fellow for his unsympathetic tones, thinking it must be hard to keep up a convincing façade of commiseration twenty or more times per day. Additionally, Skulks was happy that his ‘father’ was dead, rather than alive and casting spells in his direction or turning into a savage beast capable of cutting Skulks’ hand off. The mortuary assistant found Lunde
r’s name.

  “Your father was brought in two weeks ago. Is this the first you’ve heard of his death?”

  “It is,” Skulks told him. “I am a merchant just returned from a voyage to hear the sad news of my beloved father’s passing.”

  “I’m afraid to tell you that your father was taken away from here to the crematorium a little more than a week ago. Our records suggested that he had no relatives, so we’ll have kept him here until he was ready for a funeral.”

  “No relatives?” wailed Skulks. “My father was dearer to me than anyone, for my mother passed away many years past and he raised me alone!”

  “I am very sorry for your loss,” said the man, putting a little more effort into it this time. He was just the receptionist and not employed to cope with relatives of the dead - the mortuary employed chaperones for that purpose.

  “Was he carrying his lucky hand?” asked Skulks suddenly, catching the man off-guard.

  “Hand?” the receptionist choked.

  “He had a lucky preserved hand, which he carried with him at all times. It was very dear to him and I wish to be sure that this hand was buried next to him, or at least have its ashes scattered on the floor of his favourite tavern.”

  The morgue kept extensive records of its inmates. The man flipped through his list again, lips moving slightly as he looked over it.

  “Here we go,” he said. “One hand (detached). Relatives unknown. It came in on the same day as your father and left on the same day too.”

  “Did it definitely leave with him?” demanded Skulks to know. “It was very precious to him. He would ask its advice before any important decision and if it curled the forefinger he would know what course of action the hand favoured.” He looked downhearted for a moment. “If only he’d asked its advice before he ate that stew.”

  The receptionist looked bemused. “It says your father came in with two detached hands and his head cut off. One of these hands may have been the lucky hand you mentioned.”