To Steal from a Demon (A Wielders Novel Book 2)

by Max Anthony

  Not at all upset by his welcome, Chamber Member Heathen Spout, for it was indeed her, responded:

  “Now, now Tan. This is an important visit to Casks; the economic benefits are potentially enormous. And what was I telling you about international relations?”

  Skulks’ brow wrinkled as he thought on it. “If there is no-one from the Chamber Council present, King Meugh might use it as an excuse to take offence.”

  “You are learning fast, I see.” She turned to her companion on deck, five feet of loveliness known as Captain Jives Honey. “I have the inestimable Captains Honey and Skulks to look after me, do I not?”

  For all her sweet and innocent good looks, Captain Honey could throw a spear into a running chicken at fifty paces or bite a grown man’s arm off in under ten seconds. She had been taught by her mother, Dockmaster Grumps and had shown a natural aptitude for all things martial. Skulks had worked with her briefly some weeks ago and had been greatly impressed.

  “Good Morning, Captain Skulks,” she said, beaming happily at him.

  “Good Morning, Captain Honey,” he replied. “I am relieved to find you here. I now feel assured of Lady Spout’s continued good health.”

  “Captain Honey will be personally in charge of my well-being, to allow you greater freedom,” at this juncture there was an exaggerated wink, “to work on your international relations.”

  Skulks liked all of this winking and underhand talk, so returned a huge wink of his own. “I understand,” he said.

  Captain Honey, who was fully aware of the nature of their visit, stepped in before the excessive winking became obvious to the nearby crew. “Well, it’s nearly time to eat and all of this winking is making me nauseous. I think I’ll head back to my cabin for a lie down.”

  By now, the ship had pulled away from the Downriver Docks. The Ten Dams River widened as it reached the Deeping Sea, but not so much that it left Hardened feeling fractured or separate. There was no ‘North Hardened Mob’ to fight a ‘South Hardened Boys’ on the Bridge of Clarts with pickaxe handles or long-handled frying pans. The city’s identity was mostly cohesive and the citizens proud to live there. The early signs were good for Tan Skulks, but bad for wizards, as the wind picked up almost immediately, plucking at the billowing sails which flapped and cracked under the strain as they pulled the Hardened’s Reach out towards the sea.

  “So who else is part of our delegation?” asked Skulks.

  “We also have Clerk Souter with us, as he has proven himself to be most talented in matters of foreign affairs.” Skulks remembered Clerk Souter; he was slightly dour and had been the first man Skulks had met when he arrived at the Chamber Building a few weeks ago. He’d also had a gambling habit, causing him to run up debts which Skulks had anonymously assisted him with. Skulks cleared his throat.

  “Can he be trusted?” he asked, referring to the vulnerability of a man known to deal with loan sharks and other such money-men.

  “If you mean his gambling, he’s stopped all of that. He’s a new man now.” Though unconvinced, Skulks had little choice but to take Spout at her word and he trusted her opinion.

  “Who else do we have with us?” he enquired, looking around the deck for a face he might recognize, but seeing only the crew.

  “We also have Clerk Slipper with us, to maintain the records of our visit.” Skulks brightened at this news, though he thought Slipper was too old and frail for such a trip. “And finally we have Adept Berry, though she’s really more of a wizard than an adept.” Skulks quickly unbrightened.

  Seeing his face, Spout put a hand on his arm. “Tan, she’s a good person to have by your side. You need to get over this hatred of wizards.”

  Knowing that he was receiving good advice and also knowing that he was allowing his dislike of magic to cloud his judgement, Skulks nodded his understanding. “I’ll treat her fairly.”

  Spout changed the subject from wizards. “There we have it. Six of us sailing into the maw of the unknown.” She looked up at him with her Serious Expression, “We need to be careful. King Meugh seems to have boundless ambition. If he goes unchecked, we might find we have a powerful foe on our hands.”

  The first three days drifted by for Skulks. He’d been on many a ship before and this was like most of the others, albeit better drilled and more efficiently run. He’d already managed to inveigle his way into the crew’s gambling ring, where they cast bones of an evening to gamble their Slivers. Knowing the tale of the cow that laid golden pats, Skulks managed to restrain his urges to cheat in case the crew denied him his gambling rights because of his rampant good-fortune that only he would know was sleight-of-hand.

  Here on the third evening, he was sitting in a circle of eight crew, each with a short mug of spirit. On a merchant ship, it was generally a cheaper spirit known as Cow’s Piss which was dispensed in order to keep the crew in line. On Hardened’s flagship, it was the more potent, bitter distillation of Skrink. Once one developed a taste for it, one couldn’t drink mere Cow’s Piss any more. The First Mate, a hearty yet dictatorial man known as Laverty Trews finished his Skrink and cast forth the bones, coming up with the weakest possible line of swords, pig and skull.

  “Witches’ cocks!” cried he in consternation, as the second man to roll cast a stronger line straight away. There was some general guffawing around the table.

  “I’ll bet you shit yer maw’s knickers when you saw that one!” exclaimed one of the men in delight. Trews was well-liked and informality was permitted when they were off-shift.

  “He’s going to have to rob his dad’s grave again to pay for this!” claimed another wise-cracker.

  “Just biding me time, lads, just biding me time!” said a crestfallen Trews.

  Skulks allowed himself to toss a mid-strength hand to ensure he didn’t win this round.

  “Maybe you should grab the mop in that cupboard, Skulks, cos I’m going to take you to the cleaners!” said another, casting a row of bones that bettered Skulks’.

  “The cream always rises to the top, lads,” said Skulks, partaking of their witty repartee. “And you’ll be begging to sniff my arse-crack for a four Sliver loan when you see my next roll!”

  And so it went on. There was no discussion of politics, current affairs, nor the ship upon which they worked. It was all about who could deliver the most comical insult to someone else. No one took offense and Skulks knew that it helped them bond. He was also pleased to note that Clerk Souter had declined the opportunity to partake of the fun and games. Perhaps he had conquered his gambling habit after all, or perhaps he lacked an enjoyment of the crew’s filthy humour.

  When the urge to cheat became too strong, Skulks made his excuses and departed, having allowed himself to lose seven Slivers. As he stood up, several of the crew made clucking noises, with one or two flapping their arms against their sides to indicate his cowardice in the face of their bones-playing finesse.

  “I’ll bet he’s off to be sick over the side!”

  “I’d be sick too if I had a face like that!”

  Amused by their jeering, Skulks assured them that tomorrow they’d all be asking for an advance on their wages in order to cover the debts he would ensure they’d accrue. In truth, their gutter humour did become a little wearing after a time and though Skulks had come from the gutter he was now somewhat more than he had been. He occasionally craved enlightened company and was pleased to see Captain Honey on deck, looking over the side.

  “Good evening, Captain Honey,” said Skulks.

  “Captain Skulks,” said she.

  “How’s the new army coming along?” asked Skulks, referring to Hardened’s rapid re-militarisation after King Meugh’s recent aborted incursion into the city’s lands. She looked up and Skulks saw that her face was worn.

  “It’s hard work,” she admitted. “We’re trying to recruit and train another four thousand men into the main army and then we have to tell twenty thousand reservists that their civic duty requires them to wave a sword about for three
days a month, when most of them would rather be back at their day job.”

  Skulks would have responded sympathetically, but he found himself unable as a black tentacle was wrapped tightly around his throat. A tentacle which would have whisked him overboard to his likely death had he not been holding tightly to the ship’s rail. As it was, he was getting vigorously tugged in a most ungraceful manner, while he used both hands to keep himself on the right side of a watery grave.

  Without a word, Captain Honey drew her sword and lopped the end of the tentacle free from its owner, at which point it unfurled from Skulks’ throat and flopped a merry dance upon the deck. Thinking it to be tasty, Maurice, the ships’ cat darted from his crate and dragged the unfortunate extremity back into the darkness for further investigation.

  Plopping noises on the deck informed Skulks that the uninvited tentacle was merely a harbinger for yet more attempts to do his body a disservice. Looking about, he saw that a wave of flying fish had hurled themselves from the sea and were landing upon the deck in his vicinity. It was apparent that these were no normal fish whose life would be defined by a game of cat-and-mouse with a fisherman’s net, followed by submersion in a pan of hot lard. No, these fish were oily and purple, glistening and iridescent like a fly. Once upon the deck, they used vestigial limbs to haul themselves along in an ungainly fashion, with their target unmistakably being Tan Skulks. More such fish were hurtling through the air and the unsuccessful ones could be heard slapping meatily against the side of the ship.

  “Demon fish!” exclaimed Skulks, though he wasn’t especially upset at the notion of action. As it happens, these fish were weak and unsuited to their task of befuddling Skulks, particularly when he was assisted by the tiny and exceptionally enthusiastic Captain Honey, whose sword delivered unto them a mighty chopping.

  After only a few seconds of piscine carnage, the fish were in pieces on the deck and no more appeared to be following them from the depths. Having been alerted by the alarm, Captain Winkle was now on deck, alongside Heathen Spout and Adept Frieda Berry.

  “What is all of this commotion!” enquired the captain. “And why is my clean deck covered in fish guts?”

  By this point, the larger creature which had previously been attached to the tentacle that Maurice was now fastidiously gnawing at, had realised that its surprise attack had failed. An eye on a stalk raised itself from the water and tentatively peeped over the ships’ railing, to see what it could see. It did see something, though only for a very brief period, as one of Skulks’ dagger-swords jabbed into it. The ruined eye was withdrawn at speed, almost wrenching Skulks’ dagger from his grasp. No further eyes ventured up to join the ill-fated mission of the first.

  “What a rum thing!” said Winkle.

  “These fish are known as X’Foats,” said Adept Berry addressing Captain Honey, to whom she reported. “There was something much larger under the ship as well, but it’s gone now.”

  “Are you sure it’s gone? It nearly had Captain Skulks over the side!”

  “Yes it’s gone,” said Berry. “But that doesn’t mean it won’t come back.”

  Thinking with his stomach, Skulks asked, “These X’Foats? Are they known to be good for eating?”

  “I don’t know, Captain Skulks. I’m sure the cook will put one in a pan for you.”

  Not one to shy away from new and exotic dishes, Skulks determined to speak to the cantankerous old git who fulfilled the catering duties on board. As he would discover, Old Man Tilly was one of only four men in Ko-Chak who knew how to cook an X’Foat without the diner dying in a horrible fashion, as their liquefied intestines dribbled from their bottom. Battered X’Foat and chips was the food of kings in some parts of the world, but entirely unavailable in Hardened.

  “Increase the watch!” shouted Captain Winkle. A man ran downstairs to rouse another six of the crew to let them know the good news.

  Meanwhile, Skulks was rubbing his sucker-marked neck as he looked over the side in an attempt to locate that which Adept Berry had reassured him was gone. “If I catch the person who has marked me, rest assured I will be telling them of my ire!”

  The remainder of the voyage passed by relatively uneventfully. Skulks ate so much X’Foat that he made himself queasy and Captain Winkle stubbed his toe on the main mast, causing him to utter expletives with far greater talent than any of his crew. If he had been carrying a paper and writing stick, Skulks would have made notes. Or if Clerk Ferty Slipper hadn’t been bed-ridden with sea sickness he’d have asked him to start a new journal. Clerk Souter (Skulks had yet to discover what the man’s first name was, or if he was so much a part of the civic machinery that he would only ever be known as ‘Clerk Souter’) had also proven himself to be lacking in constitution and could often be heard groaning in self-pity below decks.

  Though Skulks didn’t believe in gods, he secretly gave thanks to Hampton Three Beards to Whom the Winds Answer, for they had been blessed with a strong following wind for much of the trip. This good fortune saw the coast of Rhult heave into view at the beginning of the ninth morning, with Casks becoming visible shortly thereafter. Although parts of Northern Rhult were much warmer than Hardened, the Southern lands were generally of a similarly temperate clime, which is to say warm for most of the year and with a short, but cold winter.

  As they came close to land, the trade delegation from Hardened, which was definitely not intending to cause any mischief beyond the total overthrow of Casks’ ruler, was leaning on the ship’s brass rail. Even Clerks Slipper and Souter had managed to haul themselves, pallid and sweating, out of their pits of misery.

  From the sea, Casks was not impressive. It had started out as a smuggling village and eventually grown through fair means and foul into the capital city of a small and unimportant kingdom. It was set to one side of the Slumbering River, with the watercourse of this river being too narrow and shallow to host some of the larger ships which docked on a daily basis at Hardened. The vessel that was currently hoping to dock there would find it a tight squeeze.

  While it was more than a squalid village, Casks clearly had a long way to go before visitors would be impressed by its skyline. It sprawled across a wide, shallow basin and even from this far out at sea, they could see that construction was everywhere, with half-formed buildings covered in scaffolds, next to their recently-completed brethren. Dotted amongst all of this work, the shabbier dwellings could be seen, comprising one or two stories. There were signs that some of the grubbiest abodes had been demolished along the edge of the river and the small dock. Casks needed another twenty years of hard work in order to live up to its pretensions.

  Versed from youth in the arts of diplomacy, five of the six kept their thoughts to themselves. Not so Tan Skulks.

  “It’s a bit of a shit-hole isn’t it?” he asked loudly. “Can you really see this lot sipping on a cup of hotleaf and buying an imported moustache?”

  Nine

  Having been guided to their moorings by seven men in a large rowing boat, the crew of the Hardened’s Reach tied her off on rusting metal bollards which looked better suited for ships a quarter of her displacement. A small crowd had gathered, for it was unusual to see a ship of this size dock in Casks, and additionally a trade delegation from Hardened could only be a good thing. Sweeping his eyes over the people gathered, Skulks didn’t see much joy in their faces. Most of them looked glum and downtrodden, hardly able to muster even a small cheer as the Hardened’s Reach was finally tied off.

  There was a bustling on the dockside as a group forced their way to the fore, evidently tasked with an official greeting of some sort.

  “Good luck,” said Captain Winkle, though there was no humour in him this time.

  At the bottom of the boarding plank, introductions were made. King Meugh didn’t seem to go in for all of the niceties that might accompany a visit to a larger Rhultian city. This suited Heathen Spout who had no time for long-winded greetings and it also suited Tan Skulks who was thirsty and hungover after win
ning six extra short mugs of Skrink the previous evening.

  “Good day to you, Lady Pout.” said the gentleman who appeared to be in charge. “I am Wibnius Ploot, personal adviser to our glorious King Meugh, sent here to ensure your transport to the palace is safe and timely.”

  “Spout,” corrected the subject of the mispronounced name.

  “I do beg your pardon, Lady Spout.” He smiled nervously at his blunder.

  This was not a good start for Ploot, as he had managed to get the basic fact of his visitor’s name incorrect, suggest that visitors to Casks were not safe and also shown to Skulks that he was a wizard. Twisting about him were a variety of wards and guards; invisible to the sight of ordinary men and women, they were clearly visible to Skulks’ Wielder’s sight. To further add to the impression of incompetent boobery he was projecting, Ploot continued:

  “We are still awaiting your carriage, Lady Spout. It seems that it has been held up somewhere on its route.”

  “Let us not worry about such little things, kind Ploot. Perhaps it has shed a wheel somewhere upon a loosened cobble.”

  Nevertheless, Wibnius Ploot was looking quite annoyed by these events, unmindful of the fact that the carriage should have been waiting on the dock two hours before his guests’ arrival, rather than being sent for at the last minute.

  Keen to take advantage of this opportunity, Skulks started to moan and groan quietly as if in pain, before leaning on Ferty Slipper’s slender frame and muttering “Oooh me poor leg,” in a voice loud enough for Ploot to hear. Worried now, lest King Meugh, who was not known for his kind temper, decided to snip his testicles off, Ploot sent a runner to search out the missing carriage. His balls were safe, for no sooner had the runner left, than a clattering and rattling announced the approach of a carriage intended to ferry the delegates onwards to the palace.

  Unfortunately for Ploot his discomfiture was to be extended, for an administrative oversight had seen that a four-person carriage had been sent instead of an eight-person carriage. Groaning most piteously, Skulks insisted that Chamber Member Spout and Captain Honey should take the carriage, putting himself out as the martyr that he most definitely was not. As she passed, Spout elbowed him firmly in the ribs and hissed “Tan!”, before smiling sweetly at Ploot and ascending the two steps onto the coach.