by Max Anthony
Thirdly, and more importantly, he’d woken up to find his dagger-swords were missing. Had they been cheap traveller’s knives (as their appearance suggested) he would have simply bought two more. Unfortunately, they had been made by the finest craftsman and enchanted by wizards of his acquaintance. It would take Skulks months, if not years of dedicated effort, by which he meant stealing, to get a new pair made. He’d certainly not be welcome in Hardened for long if he had to steal enough money to accomplish that goal and it would not be seemly for the head of Hardened’s Office of Covert Operations to be implicated in the vast application of thievery it would entail. He might even be forced into tendering his resignation.
As he was mulling this over, with his eyes stinging in the dull light of his office, a knock on the door heralded the arrival of the Chamber Building’s gentleman in charge of catering. He looked nervous. Skulks croaked out a greeting, the words feeling as if they were scraping a twin-bladed saw across his tonsils.
“Good morning. Where’s my breakfast?” His guest didn’t dare remind him that it was already early afternoon.
“Good day, Captain Skulks. I’ve been going around all the offices telling people that our deliveries failed to show up this morning. So there’s no fresh food today.” He could see that this news was failing to improve the mood of Captain Skulks. “It might be here later,” he added helpfully.
“Good god, man! No fresh food? What am I to do for my breakfast?”
“I can bring you a slice of toast?” ventured the man. Skulks considered this, wincing slightly as he imagined forcing pieces of sharp, dry toast down his throat. He was quite hungry though.
“Toast, then. And water. A very, very big jug of water.” He looked up to find the man still in his office. “What is it?” Skulks asked.
“It’s just that the water supply to the office is off today. There was a message sent around about it. Asking people to bring in their own water. They’re upgrading our pipework.”
Skulks shook his head. “Fruit juice then!”
“The rats have got into the fruit juice, Captain Skulks and we’ve had to throw it away.”
“Well what CAN you serve me?” demanded Skulks.
“You can have a glass of warm vinegar?” The man’s nervous smile quickly faded as he realised his joke was not appreciated. “Or milk! Though it might be slightly sour.”
Skulks sighed and waved the man away. He left his desk and his mounting to-do tray and headed off into the Chamber Building gardens and through to the streets. With his paltry three Slivers he bought himself a half-loaf of bread and an enormous jug of cold fruit juice, which he polished off in one swig, sticky juices running down his chin and inside his tunic, where they’d spend the rest of the day irritating him and attracting wasps.
Looking around, he could see that life was already getting back to normal after the recent woodmen and bargemen strikes which had been resolved amicably a few weeks ago. He’d have paid at least five Slivers for his half-loaf and juice back then, so would have needed to revert temporarily to the Old Tan Skulks and stolen a couple of extra coins.
As he was mustering the energy to return to his office and his groaning to-do tray, something caught his eye, further diminishing his humour. On a nearby newspaper stand, he could make out the headline of the Hardened Times. Hoping that he’d read it wrong, he squinted, wondering if his eyesight was failing. It wasn’t. Even when he took several steps closer to the newspaper it still flaunted the same words in big letters:
“462nd Annual Wizards’ Convention Comes to Hardened!” it boasted.
A few of the people in the street nearby were looking at him in concern now, for Skulks was stock still and staring straight ahead as if he might keel over at any moment. The anxious citizens were relieved to see him shake his head vigorously before he spun about on his heel and strode back the way he’d come, batting at a wasp which had settled on his tunic. One or two of those with keener ears heard him speak.
“Gods! I hate wizards!”
Back at his office, Skulks paused at the door. Since they hadn’t been quite sure what to do with him or where to situate him, he was put away in the bowels, in a small and dusty ground floor office next to the privies and with a single window. The sign on the door simply read ‘Captain T Skulks’, in keeping with the semi-secret nature of his role. He pushed it open and entered.
With pink eyes and a thirst which had returned within moments of his return to the Chamber Building, Skulks picked up the first new document on his to-do pile. “Unsolved burglaries in Hardened!” it proclaimed, with an unprofessional exclamation mark. He scanned over it with his eyes slightly glazed. Someone or someones had been taking advantage of the recent strikes, rat gods and aborted assault on the city to provide cover for their more mundane thefts. Skulks stuck it to the bottom of his pile. He was meant to be a spy, not an enforcer of the law.
The next document was titled “Klump the Frivolous seeks trade terms with Hardened”. This too was shoved to the bottom of the pile, promoting the burglaries missive further up the tray. Skulks wondered if he was doing this all wrong. He’d hoped that he’d be getting asked to break into buildings and spy on people, or steal their goods at the behest of the state. Instead, it all seemed to be humdrum matters for people with responsibility. People such as the New Tan Skulks, he thought glumly.
As he leafed through the papers, Skulks found his mind wandering back to his missing dagger-swords. Were he not so hungover, still slightly drunk in fact, he’d have been much more concerned. Up until now, he’d managed to convince himself that he’d stuck them under the bed last night, or that the bar keep at the Poet’s Grimace would have them behind the counter for him to collect later. Now he was starting to think that they had been stolen. Had he lacked his weakness in the face of ale, Skulks would have been almost impossible to steal from, possessed as he was of his Wielder’s talents and senses far more honed than those of most men. When he drank to excess, he became more vulnerable, though not what one would call vulnerable as such. This led him to believe that whoever had stolen his blades must have been a criminal of vast skill and experience.
He picked up the memo about the recent burglaries and read it again with more interest. Hardened was a big city, so burglaries were expected. Most people were honest, but there was always someone who needed to top up their wages with someone else’s money or goods. Generally, it was small-time stuff. People tended to leave their front doors unlocked, so there was often a bit of temptation for those of a disreputable nature to nick an item or two in passing. It was tolerated. However, as far as Skulks knew there wasn’t much in the way of large scale or organised crime. It wasn’t really in the city’s nature.
The list of goods reported stolen was unusual; there was an alabaster bust, a painting of the Chamber Building, a couple of vases, a monocle and an ornate lamp. All of these items and more had been stolen from various houses across the city. Often, more valuable and transportable goods had been left behind.
“Either the thief is an idiot or there’s a master plan behind their activities,” thought Skulks to himself, unaware that his bad day was about to get even worse. There was a knock on the door and a clerk entered with another document for his pile. Skulks should have realised that the clerk’s haste to leave was indicative of her concern, but his head was not yet fully clear. With no excuse to leave this new document unread, Skulks nevertheless paced the room for some time, making himself look busy even though the room was otherwise empty, the new memo already forgotten.
It had started to get dark now, the increased slamming of the adjacent privy’s door telling Skulks that the Council’s employees were getting ready to leave. No one liked to wait until they got home to use the toilets when they could squeeze in a last visit on taxpayer’s time. Distracted by the noise and determined that he would demand a larger, better office in the morning, Skulks sat back at his desk and picked up the latest memo. “Tiopan Lunder has escaped” it said, much to Skulks�
�� vexation which he made known by swearing loudly and earthily, causing the single potted plant in his room to blush.
Two
Had Skulks been the subject of a book he would have been dismayed to find that this most troublesome of all days was to be so extensive that a single chapter would be insufficient to fully describe it.
With the contents of his in-tray swept petulantly off his desk and into the bin, where they failed to entirely cover the deplorable hat, Skulks marched over to an oil lamp, which he intended to light using one of the candles kept burning in every room for just this purpose. Though he didn’t need any light whatsoever in order to see clearly, it occurred to him that he might just get a visitor even at this increasingly late hour. If he was found stewing silently in the darkness, some of the clerks might begin to talk. The hat had already destroyed much of his credibility and though Skulks was too old to really care, he still had a bit of pride.
So, with six oil lamps waving their merry light about the room, Skulks returned to his desk. Though he had no intentions of doing anything constructive, he needed to remain in the office for another hour to complete his allotted time. The clerks would be watching and recording - their industrious fingers wrote no lies. Something had changed subtly and it took him a moment to realise what it was. On his desk, a new note had appeared in his to-do tray, though there had been no one to deliver it. Skulks picked it up and read the few words writ thereon. “You are marked”, they said.
“Well this is something of a pickle,” said Skulks aloud. As it happens, this news wasn’t excessively upsetting to him, for he’d been threatened on more than one occasion in the past. Perhaps his job was about to become exciting after all.
Excitement did arrive and almost immediately. It was heralded by a scratching at his door, suggestive of a hound seeking passage into the garden to fulfil a requirement to empty its bladder. This scratching sound became more insistent, with Skulks wondering why the scratcher didn’t simply open the door, which was unlocked. After a further bout of scraping, the door did open and with quite a violence, banging back on its hinges. Something came into the room. It was the size of a large hound, though far more muscular. Sleek black hair covered its body, oily and gleaming. At first glance it would have looked like a hound, albeit of a type that the elderly or infirm wouldn’t like to take for walkies in case it pulled them from their feet. Its glowing white eyes looked over the room, seeing it to be empty. The single window opposite was open.
However, the room was only empty inasmuch as it failed to look behind the door, where Skulks was hiding. With the beast mostly in the room it was flummoxed when the door it had so recently been scratching was hurled shut with an unexpected amount of power, trapping the hound ‘twixt frame and door. Furthermore, the door began squashing its hindquarters against the frame as Skulks pushed it firmly with his shoulder. Though he was slender of build, Skulks was considerably stronger than he looked and had the beast possessed tear ducts its eyes would have been watering at the crushing sensation focused on its haunches.
Skulks knew it immediately as a dark summon, brought forth with the promise of payment to complete a task for its master. This task was almost always to murder someone and the payment was almost always other people for it to kill and occasionally eat. They definitely didn’t like to be paid in fruit, or tins of oily fish.
Had someone or something not stolen his precious dagger-swords, this beast would already have perished with a blade in its eye or somewhere equally excruciating. As it was, it had to settle for being punched repeatedly in the head, having several teeth pummelled forth and suffering a ruptured eyeball. By now Skulks had observed that there was a small queue of such dark summons waiting to gain entry to his office. He would have a word with the clerks in the morning, for they had certainly not told him to expect visitors and they knew he was seen by appointment only.
Clad as he was in his favourite steel-capped boots, Skulks delivered a kick into the head of the monster before him as it scrabbled in fury against its tormentor. Hoping he’d bought enough time, Skulks gave the door one final push, sprinted across the room and dived head first out the window, relieved to have been given a ground floor office. In the room behind him three more of the darkly conjured beasts clambered over the first which was injured and had lost the use of its rear legs which it dragged along behind it at a much reduced pace.
The first pursuing creature leapt with surprising grace through the window, front and back legs extended like the lady of a dance pair, awaiting her partner to twirl her through the air above his head. Like the chivalrous knight that he wasn’t, Skulks was there waiting for it, though not to spin it around above his head, but to help its flight into the depths of a manicured hedge. Skulks knew this to be a Fluvian Shredder; prized for its beautiful leaves on the outside, but feared for the foot-long, barbed thorns on the inside. With a growl, the beast disappeared into the depths of the bush, where it thrashed and kicked as thorns pierced it in numerous places it would rather they had not.
As the next beast cleared the sill it was met by a stone, found by the lucky hand of Skulks and cast with verve and style into its snout. As it watched, he sprinted off down the side of the Chamber Building at a speed most unexpected. Undaunted, the dark summon exited the window and fell onto the ground, setting off in pursuit at a similarly high speed, another beast close behind. Meanwhile in Skulks’ office, the fourth creature which had been damaged by door, kick and punches was becoming increasingly confused and dragged itself in a circle as the severity of its injuries became more apparent.
Outside, Skulks was still ahead of the now much smaller pack and heading towards a patrol of two Chamber Building guardsmen whom he noted were milling rather than patrolling. With their back to him, Skulks was able to reach them unnoticed and had slowed to a walk as they turned. Recognizing him, one of the patrol gulped and they both tried to look about their business.
“Captain Skulks!” one of them said. “How are you this evening, sir?” Even though Skulks was no longer in charge of the guards, no one wanted to be caught in dereliction of their duties by him.
“I am very well, thank you Crivens,” spoke Captain Skulks, for all the world looking like he was out for his evening constitutional. “How’s the nipper doing?”
“Not too bad, sir. She’s keeping us awake at night, though. She’s hungry for her bottle.”
“Well, they do say that a hungry baby is a healthy baby,” said Captain Skulks, reaching across and smoothly drawing the sword from Crivens’ scabbard. Before Crivens could put voice to his surprise, Captain Skulks had turned and was engaged with two heavy-set hounds, though their faces looked more lupine. Even before the second guard of the pair, a sturdy lad called Crinkle, had managed to scramble his own sword free, one of the beasts had been stabbed in the shoulder and Captain Skulks had received a swipe across his trousers, opening up three shallow cuts on his thigh.
“Has your dad’s limp improved yet Crinkle?” asked Skulks, parrying another claw swipe and removing a chunk of the paw in the process.
With no idea how to handle this peculiarly inappropriate conversation, and being a polite boy besides, Crinkle informed Skulks that indeed his dad’s limp was noticeably improved over the last few weeks for he’d been remembering to put his cream on his knee.
“He’ll probably feel it in the damp weather for a few years,” said Captain Skulks, side-stepping a leaping beast and swatting it on the rump with his blade as it passed him. Crinkle dumbly stuck his sword into it. He was a big lad and though the beast thrashed a bit, the blade had done it a fatal injury.
As Crivens and Crinkle watched, Captain Skulks executed a ducking spin at a speed neither man had witnessed from him before. The final beast’s head was lopped off and it fell tumbling into an array of Glimmering Starlights, crushing three. Captain Skulks looked momentarily disappointed before he turned back to the guards. He returned to Crivens his sword and marched off, though not before he’d told them of the need
to keep moving when on patrol.
Thirty minutes later Skulks was at home sound asleep, thus ending his unpleasant day.
Three
The following morning, feeling greatly refreshed and with clawed leg already mostly healed, Skulks arose from his slumber at the early hour of nine and prepared for the day ahead. His preparations were few and consisted of getting out of bed, scratching himself and then taking a piss. With the important things done he finally got himself dressed in his captain’s livery in preparation for another hard day of dedication at the office. His position as head, indeed only member of the Office of Covert Operations dictated he be provided with lodgings at the city’s expense. Therefore, he’d been permitted to live at No. 46 Cow’s Skirt Corner, each day a wincing reminder of the moustache he had taken a fancy to while he was in disguise in the hunt for the now escaped rogue merchant-wizard Tiopan Lunder. The house was nothing extravagant and he hardly even noticed it as he wandered through the living area and closed the front door behind him.
By ten of the clock, heads were turned in the environs of the Chamber Building as Captain Skulks was observed approaching his place of work before the sun had even reached a position directly overhead. Up the steps he went and inside. Rather than heading to his own office, Skulks took the corridor leading to the much grander office of Chamber Member Heathen Spout, whom Skulks knew and was very fond of.
