by Max Anthony
“Give me another pie, will you? And let’s get going,” came the voice of Jake as the sound of his gurgling stomach rent the air.
“Let us teach this necromancer a lesson she will never forget!” clichéd Skulks as he complied with Jake’s request for sustenance.
Wasting no further time, Skulks headed for the closest entrance to the basement. Unlike most basements, which might comprise two or three rooms, the Chamber Building basement was vast – an entire floor below ground with rooms, corridors and open spaces. Skulks had explored it extensively during the times he’d become bored with sitting in his office, so knew all of its twists and turns. He descended a flight of steps into to one corner of the basement and paused, listening for sounds that might lead him onwards. Both Wielders heard it – a thumping sound somewhere distant. Thump, thump, thump, it went.
Without a word, Skulks headed in the direction of the sound. Oil lamps flickered, their light maintained by a small army of support staff. Deeper into the basement there was no light, for it was inefficient to have lamps covering every area of such a large space. A wizard could produce a permanent light using a spell and a globe of glass, but the wonders of such modern technology had yet to receive taxpayer funding down here.
It didn’t take long before there were no more oil lamps hanging from the walls and the brick-walled corridor became utterly black. Neither Jake nor Skulks were concerned and their eyes were able to see almost as clearly as they could in full daylight, though the darkness did conceal the stain from a dribble of gravy that had landed on Skulks’ shoulder. Whatever had caused the thumping noise had been still for a time, but suddenly the heavy noise was resumed, rather closer this time.
“I’ll bet that’s something nasty,” whispered Skulks without fear.
“Let us give it a good thrashing,” responded Jake. He waved his arms around in an impression of the action he planned to take in order to deliver this thrashing. As he did so, the metal bars that were fastened to his arms struck opposite walls of the corridor with loud clangs. The thumping noise immediately ceased.
“Oops!” said Jake.
The corridor they followed was long and wide. Although Skulks didn’t know it, the original architect had planned this to be the main passage to and from the underground canteen, wherein the clerks working in the basement would be encouraged to buy a nutritionally-balanced subsidised lunch. The canteen never made it past the planning stage and the basement had always been very much under-utilised, though it made an excellent storage area for paperwork that no-one really needed to see again but which seemed too important to just throw out.
The thumping noise resumed again, this time at a much greater volume. Skulks detected a breeze in his face where there had previously been no wind. THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! went the noise, now from directly ahead. The breeze became stronger, as if something enormous was driving the air in front of it as it sped down the corridor.
“I think it’s time to skedaddle,” said Jake.
Skulks was in no mood to argue and dived into a side passage which looked as though it had been put there for just that purpose, though on the original basement plans it was intended to lead to the main privies. He was just in time and something large barrelled through the space he had just vacated, its feet making the thumping noise they had heard.
“We probably don’t want to face that thing in the corridor, whatever it is. It’ll trample us,” Jake suggested. By now, they both had a fairly good idea of what that ‘thing’ might be and it was with some trepidation that Skulks poked his head back into the corridor that the creature had run along. The thumping sound had receded into the distance, so Skulks resumed his journey, albeit at a much quicker pace and doing his best to remain silent. The thumping noise resumed, slowly this time, as if there was some uncertainty in the creature’s strides. As the corridor opened out into a much larger space, Skulks betrayed his love of the chaotic by wasting no time in shouting loudly:
“Come and get us! Here boy!”
The thumping picked up speed once more, as the creature homed in on the source of the voice. In other circumstances, Skulks would have been tempted to pull down his trousers in order to display his buttocks, but his hopes were foiled by having Jake the Headcracker on his back, making the plan unworkable. Instead, he watched calmly as his fears were realised and Zera Graves’ special construct thundered along towards them at maximum velocity.
It was an ugly bugger. Five thick, muscular legs powered it from the base, each leg as thick as a normal man’s torso. Atop the legs were eight dark-skinned arms, bulging with corded muscle and with thick-fingered hands at the end. Three of these arms reached up vertically, each holding a copy of Zera Graves’ dark-haired head aloft. Black eyes without pupils stared ahead as the arms holding them twisted and turned to ensure the heads could see in all directions. Each mouth had the usual bevy of sharp-pointed teeth, leading Skulks to think that Zera Graves lacked in imagination, because all of the heads she created looked too uniform for his liking. In height, the creature was taller than Skulks, but considerably more massive.
“So that’s where all my arms and legs have got to!” said Jake without surprise.
Skulks jumped to one side as the special construct charged past, leaving it a little too close for comfort. Jake took advantage of the proximity by giving one of his metal bars a mighty heave and felt it clonk against the construct’s legs. The beast was knocked off course by the blow, though not off its five feet. All three of the heads stared at the Wielders and laughed maniacally.
“I’m going to sew your arms onto your forehead!” Zera Graves gloated as the five legs beneath scrabbled against the rough tiles, in order to enact a change of direction.
Skulks had immediately realised that the construct was disadvantaged by the slipperiness of the stone floor. It had ample strength to bring itself to a halt quickly, but had not the purchase to do so. With both swords drawn, Skulks closed the gap between himself and the construct. He swung with his first sword, the blow lightning fast. One of the construct’s arms came up to block and the sword rang loudly as it contacted the dead flesh.
“It’s like hitting frozen meat,” thought Skulks. The creature was as hard as it was muscular.
As Skulks attempted to stab into the beast with the point of both swords, Jake leaned over and swung with his metal bars, catching one of the hands on the tip of its fingers, shattering the bones beneath. By now the construct had halted and it started to rotate left and right in order to throw off its attackers and to try and bring its own arms to bear.
As he feinted and chopped, Skulks felt similar to how a fly might feel against the might of an ox. He ducked beneath one punching arm, bringing Jake’s head into the line of fire. The blow cannoned off his bald head.
“Watch it, Tan,” he exclaimed, hitting the construct a glancing blow with his iron bar.
Skulks jabbed again, this time feeling his sword-tip crunch through the hard muscles of one of the construct’s five legs. As he tried to withdraw the blade, a bunched fist thumped him firmly in the chest, causing him to drop to his haunches, wheezing. Jake prevented the beast from taking advantage by clubbing at it twice more, driving it back.
“It’s a tough one, right enough,” Jake said. The blows that he’d landed on it so far would have stunned an elephant, but the construct seemed as lively as it had when it first charged past them only a minute or two ago.
Skulks had managed to right himself, though the blow had hurt him greatly. He brought up his remaining sword defensively, wishing he had his dagger-swords with him instead. One of the construct’s hands swatted the blade aside contemptuously and another hand punched Skulks in the side of the head. Dazed, he staggered back and the beast piled forward, raining further blows upon him. Words reached his ears from close by.
“Turn around! Quickly!”
Skulks did turn around, using Jake’s body as a shield against the pummelling blows that were striking him. Jake was the brawler out of the t
wo and even though he suffered a ruptured kidney and three broken ribs, he was the better equipped of the pair to absorb the punishment. The heads of Zera Graves laughed in glee and one of them came in close to leer as the construct continued its attack on the Wielders. The laughing stopped immediately when a flailing iron bar caught the head squarely in the mouth, dislodging many teeth and shattering the jawbone in a dozen places. The head was withdrawn at speed, dribbling teeth as it went.
The Wielders’ minor victory was short-lived. The construct’s arms were now focused on their task of thumping its foes into a bloody smear on the floor. In trying to defend himself Skulks was unable to attack, allowing the construct to beat him without mercy. Jake’s metal bars appeared to be more effective than Skulks’ sword, but even they were not debilitating the creature. Just when it appeared that things could get no worse, they did.
Already fighting to remain on his feet and conscious, Skulks heard a voice squeak into his ear.
“Remember me?” it asked.
Skulks roared in pain and anger as he felt one of his own dagger-swords cut into his side, driven by the evil mini-Skulks which had followed them unseen from Heathen Spout’s office where it had been hiding.
Had Saucer Face been given a mouth, it too would have uttered a similarly menacing introduction as it stabbed Skulks in the thigh with the second stolen dagger-sword.
Skulks lashed out, hoping to catch mini-Skulks with a lucky blow, but his replica was too wily to be caught in this manner. It avoided the backhand and tugged on the handle of the dagger-sword where it jutted out of Skulks’ rib cage.
As punches continued to strike him, Skulks’ anger was replaced by a serene calmness. His mind felt strangely detached, as if he were watching the scene from a position floating above the combat. He looked on as Saucer Face and mini-Skulks plunged his own dagger-swords into him again. He saw an increasingly desperate Jake thrash at the special construct in the hope of catching it with a lucky blow. Two of its arms now hung limply where they’d been smashed into uselessness and the construct trailed one of the five legs behind it. Regardless, it showed no signs of abating and it could only be a matter of time before it killed them both. Skulks found himself wondering how they’d have fared against the beast if both he and Jake had been separate, rather than tied together. He had no regrets. He’d have rather had Jake there than face the construct alone, though his bravado still wondered if he’d have been able to defeat it using stealth instead of direct confrontation.
The scene below faded, becoming dim. A light glowed faintly in the distance, catching the eye of Skulks’ mind. The light grew brighter and ever more beautiful. It was the diamond that he’d first seen in Zera Graves’ house when he’d fought the body-mound. This time it did not disappear when Skulks reached out for it. The gemstone was flawless and pristine white. Even as his body suffered, Skulks’ mind calculated the worth of the item and assigned to it the value of a small kingdom.
His fingers closed on the diamond and he felt a blissful calm wrap itself around him, warming and comforting.
“Am I dead?” he thought idly.
To the collective relief of tavern owners and food stall owners across the city, he was not dead. As he grasped the diamond, it glowed brightly in his hand. He felt, rather than heard, a humming which seemed to come from all around him. The light expanded at almost infinite speed and there was a series of loud cracks, like a dozen baboons running into a glass wall.
As quickly as they had arrived, the light and sound faded into nothingness. Skulks opened his eyes, seeing nothing but blackness. Shortly, his eyes adjusted themselves to the gloom, his Wielding power already working to heal his damaged retinas. He was lying on the cold, hard floor. Fifteen feet away, Zera Graves’ construct was plastered against a wall. Several of its limbs had been torn away and were scattered nearby, all of them were charred and burned. The three heads it carried had been ruptured by the impact against the wall, with skin and hair burned away. Skulks didn’t yet have the strength to stand, so lay still for a moment. He heard a coughing sound from over his shoulder.
“What in the name of Purdle’s rabid chicken did you do?” asked Jake the Headcracker.
Skulks tried to speak, but only a rasping gurgle came from his mouth.
“I feel like I’ve been squeezed through a mangle,” continued Jake. “I didn’t know I was so strong!” he said, proudness creeping into his voice as he looked at the shattered arms of the construct.
Finding his voice at last, Skulks was able to respond. “Your arms punched like a baby,” he said. “If I hadn’t been weighed down by a big oaf I’d have beaten the beast in moments.”
Suddenly, he remembered about Saucer Face and mini-Skulks and felt a sudden alarm. Still lacking the energy to lift himself and Jake upright, he looked around, using his Wielding sight to check for small, hidden figures waiting to pounce. He needn’t have worried. There, protruding from beneath his body, were two pairs of feet.
“I wondered what that was, digging into my chest,” he said, rolling to one side. Saucer Face and mini-Skulks were dead, crushed beneath the two falling Wielders. Skulks swept the bodies petulantly to one side so that they could dig into him no longer. There was a dagger-sword within arm’s reach and Skulks picked it up, happy to be re-united with the blade. The other one was nowhere to be seen.
Too weak to search for the missing dagger-sword at the moment, Skulks tucked his knees under his body and forced himself to his feet. He, too, felt as though he had been forced through a mangle.
“Ouch you bugger!” he exclaimed to the gods of pain and discomfort.
“We should find the Chamber Council. And Captain Honey’s mother,” said Jake.
“Gah, they could be anywhere!” Skulks told him. “This place is massive!”
The pies Skulks was carrying had suffered more than anything else present in the Chamber Building basement. Not dissuaded, Skulks idly pulled a few gravy-matted crusts and chunks of meat from his pocket and shoved them into his mouth. Somehow, the potions he was carrying had survived intact, though this was not so much of a mystery. It was common practise for alchemists and necromancers to purchase enscorcelled vials, imbued with magics to make them resistant to damage.
As a battered Tan Skulks and Jake the Headcracker shambled off through the basement of the Chamber Building a new sound reached their ears. It pitter-pattered quickly in the distance, like an enormous mouse seeking a lump of cheese.
Twenty-Four
Skulks groaned. “It’s the arm-steed,” he said. “And it’s probably accompanied by Zera Graves!”
“That’s splendid news!” said Jake. “It means we don’t need to chase her down any longer, for she is coming to us!” Hearing it put so optimistically, Skulks perked up.
“I owe Graves a trouncing!” he said. “And I should like to give her that trouncing right soon!”
As they listened, the pitter-pattering faded. Skulks did his best to head in the direction it was coming from, however none of the corridors nearby went the correct way. He broke into a trot, but was too hurt to make good speed. The noise of the arm-steed became quieter and quieter. Whatever it was seeking, it wasn’t in the area of the basement occupied by Skulks and Jake.
“Cut me loose and get after it!” urged Jake. “Here, stick me in this side room and go!”
Ever practical, Skulks did just that. His dagger-sword sliced cleanly through the ropes binding him to his friend, separating them. Jake found himself propped up against a wall with a squashed pie pushed into his mouth and then Skulks was gone.
Sprinting after the receding arm-steed, Skulks became aware of a pain in his side, which was more intense than the dull aching he felt elsewhere. With each stride, the pain built until it was quite unbearable. He slowed down to inspect himself and found his remaining dagger-sword still embedded in his flesh, protruding between two ribs. Gritting his teeth, he slid it free, leaving behind an unwelcome hole in his skin through which a heavy flow of blood depar
ted. Holding his tunic tightly over the wound, Skulks kept to a fast walk, hoping the wound would heal sufficiently to present no threat to his life.
“After this is over, I shall put in a request for three days’ leave,” he vowed to himself.
Soon the excruciatingly sharp pain had subsided to an excruciating dull pain, which was an improvement in a sense. Skulks found he was able to pick up the pace once more, while he did his best to listen out for the scampering arm-steed. He hoped that it was still looking for the Chamber Council because he doubted that Zera Graves would leave without some sort of victory to her name. On the other hand, they might all be dead, he thought, in which case he’d need to follow the necromancer into the streets of the city to see her off once and for all.
Knowing the basement to be the perfect place to lose something permanently, Skulks hoped that the Chamber Council would all be hiding in crates somewhere as they waited for rescue. Then he remembered that they were proud people and he couldn’t imagine Doris Grumps huddling in a wooden box, praying desperately to be saved.
The pitter-pattering sound was closer now and it briefly became a frenzy of scamperings. There was a shout somewhere close by, followed by crashings and bangings. It sounded like something very strong was punching something very solid. Breaking into a run, Skulks heard metal striking stone several times along with more shouting. The echoes made it difficult for him to be certain who was shouting, but the voice was definitely that of a woman.
In this area of the basement, oil lamps once more cast their flickering light, illuminating yet more of the endless side rooms with their infernal mounds of crates and boxes. Even under the watchful eye of these dancing orange glows Skulks was able to make himself unseen, becoming little more than a whispering breeze as he sprinted towards the source of the commotion. His goal was not far away and in front of him he saw the arm-steed at a doorway. The door was gone, torn from its frame and thrown further along the corridor, but a sturdy bulwark of crates blocked passage through. The arm-steed battered frantically at these crates, balancing on two hands so that the third arm could punch the crates aside. As quickly as it could knock them away, the occupants in the room pushed them back into place or lifted up a new crate to act as a replacement. Occasionally, a human arm would dart out through an exposed gap, bearing a vicious, serrated blade. Each time the blade contacted the arm-steed it would pull away a chunk of the dead flesh. It was a war of attrition and one which the room’s occupants would eventually lose.
