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

by Max Anthony

  Almost an hour later, the same carriage returned to pick up the last four delegates, who had been left to mill about the docks, weathering the stares of the curious locals. Wibnius Ploot had accompanied Spout and Honey, leaving the remaining guests in the incapable hands of a man with many pimples and a moustache that looked like a hairy caterpillar upon his lip. He seemed to have no idea why he was there or what he was expected to do, so simply smiled uncertainly and every so often would turn around at the imagined sound of the returning carriage which didn’t arrive.

  “I’m sure it shall be here soon!” said he, followed by a “Not long now” and finally a “Tsk, they must have been held up in traffic”, even though there was little sign of traffic clogging up the cobbled streets. All-in-all, it was something of a shambles.

  By the time the carriage returned, Skulks had almost convinced himself that there actually was something wrong with his leg and he dragged it slowly behind him as he fell up the steps, gratefully accepting the assistance of Ferty Slipper. His hangover had started to subside, but his thirst had not and he began to wonder if Ploot had conjured a demon of dryness into his mouth to suck it clear of moisture. Fortunately for Skulks, such a demon was not known to exist and the dryness was simply down to his body’s requirement for fluids.

  Leaving behind the hairy-lipped, pimply man and his equally inept colleagues, the carriage slowly rattled its way into the streets of Casks. The journey was completed largely in silence, though Skulks spent some time looking out of the window in order to make a note of their route in case he needed to follow it again in a hurry. He smiled slightly as he imagined himself evading capture with a sack full of ill-gotten gains as a cohort of King Meugh’s finest wizards and guards pursued him fruitlessly. He even hummed a happy and tuneless refrain, which he often did when thinking happy thoughts. The Wielder’s reverie was interrupted by a tapping on his shoulder and he came back to the present to see everyone in the coach looking at him with concern.

  “Are you all right, Captain Skulks?” asked Clerk Souter.

  “Yes, yes, I’m quite fine. Thank you very much for the concern.”

  At last, the carriage pulled up in front of King Meugh’s palace. It would be a stupendous affair when it was completed, but for now it was a swarm of building activity, looking half-complete as a minor king did his best to bankrupt his small, poor kingdom with an edifice of monstrous folly. If it was ever completed, it would dwarf Hardened’s Chamber Building and even now it challenged for size. Clerk Souter, an interested scholar of history and the foolish largesse of kings shook his head.

  “If Meugh spent all this money on roads and a proper administration, he’d be able to afford this palace in ten years without ruining his economy. He’s young and has plenty of time to build a palace later in his reign.”

  With Souter’s words of wisdom in their ears, they alighted the carriage to find Wibnius Ploot awaiting them, looking much more composed now that events were running to plan.

  “I do apologise for the delay, kind guests. I will show you to your rooms in order that you might prepare for tonight’s Rhultian feast, which King Meugh is preparing in your honour.”

  “What about our baggage and suitcases?” asked Adept Berry, embarrassing Ploot anew for he had entirely forgotten that guests generally bring various goods and chattels with them. Spout and Honey had evidently failed to enquire, and Ploot tried to flag down the carriage which was now making its way back to the King’s stables and was a short distance along the road. He broke into a lumbering trot and then a canter as he tried in vain to get the attention of the driver, who was staring straight ahead with a faint air of satisfaction as he resolutely failed to hear Ploot’s voice. Skulks observed some of the wards around Ploot glow as he considered the option of destroying the carriage in smoke and flames, but the glowing faded without death or maiming. Nevertheless, Skulks had seen the potential for violence and squirreled away this piece of information as evidence that Ploot wasn’t all bumbling and blustering.

  With his dignity well and truly spoiled, Ploot gave up the chase and returned to the party.

  “I’m so sorry,” said he, apologising again. “I will have someone go to your ship and bring back your luggage in plenty of time for you to get ready for the Rhultian feast.”

  Skulks already knew that a Rhultian feast was an event wherein the participants would often be at enormous risk of personal harm and that such a feast was used to bump off rivals in certain circles of Rhult. Skulks was a little bit surprised that the tradition had reached into the backwater of Casks, but he was determined to be on his guard later.

  Ploot ushered them up a wide flight of white stone steps towards the central structure of the part-formed palace. As it happens, only the centre structure was anywhere near completion and there looked to be two additional wings in the early stages of erection. Some years ago, perhaps some hundreds of years ago, Skulks had been drinking in Ironsburg. As was his tendency, he’d engaged a fellow patron in conversation, who just happened to be the moderately famous economist and philosopher Alos Derring. After discussing favourite cuts of meat, whether four legs or five was preferable on a tavern stool and engaging in a short drinking competition, she had turned to Skulks and told him:

  “If in doubt, build.”

  As a man with an open mind, Skulks had questioned her line of thought leading up to this conclusion and had been wisely advised that unrestrained building keeps a city occupied.

  “Even if you’ve run out of money, borrow it and build something else. It keeps everyone busy and exhausted. People who are busy and exhausted don’t have the time or the energy to revolt.”

  Whilst he had found this idea enlightening and was very intrigued by it, Skulks had at that point fallen asleep with his forehead upon the bar. When he’d awoken, Alos Derring was gone and never again would they meet. Though they had met only this one time, Skulks clearly remembered the conversation and even now felt his argument that four legs were clearly much better than five on a stool was the superior one. “Who needs stability?” he asked himself dismissively.

  One-by-one, Hardened’s trade delegates were shown to their rooms, with the thirstiest delegate being last to his chamber. Ploot stopped in front of a beautifully-carved hardwood door, unique as they all had been, in testament to the fact that even the doors were bespoke and therefore expensive. Skulks knew that many of the cathedrals in High Domes had shattered their projected budgets by spending too much on the minutiae. Walls came cheap in comparative terms. Stick up ten big, high walls with a roof and people had something they could see and touch, but three hundred hand-carved doors and two-thousand individual coloured windows could suck dry the coffers of a small money-house.

  “Here you are, Mr Skulks,” said Ploot. “You know where your colleagues are staying, so I’ll leave you here. You’ll be called when the feast is ready to start. However, I must warn you that King Meugh is very keen for you to stay within the walls of his palace. He doesn’t want his treasured guests getting lost in his precious city of Casks.”

  “Should he deign to ask, please inform King Meugh that I have every intention of remaining within the palace,” said Skulks, doing his best for Hardened’s diplomatic corps, when really he was looking forward to having a foray outside.

  Smiling thinly, Ploot withdrew. If he’d noticed that Skulks was no longer limping, he gave no sign.

  Alone in his room, Skulks investigated his new lodgings. If all of the rooms in the palace ended up this opulent, King Meugh would have something to be proud of while he plotted his small-time machinations against his much bigger neighbours. There was a huge four-post bed upon which was an unused mattress and silk sheets. There were chairs, dressers, three large mirrors and an empty table, though much of the furniture would not have looked out of place in Jerry the Ratchet’s office, which told Skulks that even in the so-called finished quarters, the palace was still a work in progress. For now, he was less concerned about the fixtures than about his de
sire to drink seventy cups of water

  Propitiously for Skulks, the architects had seen fit to provide each chamber with a tap and sink. A smaller doorway, where clearly a door was intended to fit, led to a separate room wherein the beloved guest could bathe themselves in order to prepare for the hurly burly of court. Shamefully, the plumbers had yet to connect the water supply in Skulks’ room, though he would later find out that his room was alone in this regard.

  Wasting no time and gasping for effect, Skulks made his way next door to Ferty Slipper’s room.

  “Water!”

  Slipper was currently reclining, sipping on a cold fruit juice. The moisture clinging to the jug, as well as the gentle clink of ice cubes told Skulks that it was cold. On Slipper’s table was a tray with a fine array of sweet treats: pastries and cakes. Another tray had local meats, cheeses and breads. To add insult to injury, there was also a decorative bowl of fruit, with a quantity of imported products awaiting selection by a hand left indecisive at the variety.

  “Do you mind turning the tap off, Tan?” he asked. “I forgot to turn it off before sitting down.” Slipper’s tap was gushing water wastefully into the sink below. Gritting his teeth, for his room had evidently been overlooked by the serving staff as well as the plumbers, Skulks pushed his face to the flowing water and drank greedily until his belly was full. Eventually his craving for water was sated and he rose from the sink, water dripping down his face and covering his tunic. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “That’s better!” he said with relief as he pilfered a large wedge of cheese from Slipper’s tray.

  “Here now!” said Slipper. “Don’t you go stealing all of my food, will you Captain Skulks? It’s a long time till this Rhultian feast thingy that Ploot was talking about!”

  As he turned around, Skulks briefly put a finger over his lips in a seemingly casual gesture. Then, crouching down to pick up a fallen crumb of cheese, he cupped a hand over one ear in another casual gesture. Had Ferty Slipper been a stupider man, he might have asked aloud why Skulks was putting one finger over his mouth and cupping his ear, but he did not. He simply nodded slightly to acknowledge his understanding.

  In his desperation to flush the desert from his mouth, Skulks had not checked his own room for observers, but even a cursory glance here allowed Skulks to identify at least seven peep holes, two with eyes pressed against them. There was probably a lot more of them. Moving around the room, Skulks paused every now and then to tweak the angle of an ornament or even to move it entirely as if its existing location was not to his taste. Soon, most of the peep holes were blocked or their angle of view severely impinged. Bringing Heathen Spout’s recent teachings to mind, he recalled that King Meugh would never be able to admit to spying on his guests. Picking up the largest, bitterest fruit he recognized, Skulks started peeling it slowly.

  “Very juicy, these ones,” he advised Slipper.

  “I’m sure they are,” responded Slipper.

  Pausing near one of the eye-holes, Skulks bit down on the first segment, wincing, for the sharpness was an acquired taste.

  “Ooh I don’t think I like this!” said he, turning to put it down on a dresser. Unfortunately, being slightly clumsy of foot on this occasion, he stumbled forward with the fruit in his hand. His forward momentum caused the fruit to be squashed between his hand and the dresser, whereupon the juice was observed to spray the wall copiously. Pretending that he hadn’t heard the muffled cries from behind the wall, Skulks shrugged at his cloddish feet.

  “Oh dear. I shall have to rinse off my hands.”

  With Slipper given a modest amount of privacy, Skulks had him write out a warning on a piece of paper, which Skulks took from room to room. He wasn’t surprised to find that Spout and Berry were already aware and was even less surprised to find that Captain Honey had moved her own furnishings around to block the peepholes. “She’s a natural, that woman,” thought Skulks proudly as if he’d taught her everything that she knew. Upon being given permission to enter her room, he’d observed her performing a weapon-less combat routine, the moves to which she recited as she fought an imagined opponent.

  “Fist to the temple, block, block, knee to the groin, duck, chop to the neck, chop to the neck, head-butt, kick to the stomach, kick to the mouth, head-butt, head-butt, head-butt, head-butt.” She ended it all with a graceful spin and twirl, accompanied by the words “Finger in the eye.” These words were spoken simultaneously with her pinky descending its full length into a poorly-hidden spy-hole in her wall. As the finger was withdrawn, a scream was heard somewhere nearby, almost as if someone not in the room had suffered a painful and unexpected injury, such as having a finger pushed into their eye.

  “What can I do for you, Captain Skulks?”

  “Oh, nothing at all. Just making sure everyone’s rooms are comfortable.”

  “Thank you for your concern, Captain Skulks, everything is just fine.” She flashed him a beatific smile as she moved over to the opposite side of the room and began her dance anew.

  Ten

  By mid-afternoon, the palace kitchens were astir. The staff had been told that their king was hosting an important delegation and that everything had to be just-so, in order to give the impression that Casks had transcended its smuggling origins. There was little indication that the staff were being secretly watched, though it was noted that the occasional bread bun had mysteriously gone missing.

  By late afternoon, the King’s grand feasting room was a scene of commotion, as staff set places for the honoured guests. A fine white tablecloth was laid the full length of a table capable of seating thirty, though tonight it would be seating somewhat fewer. There was little indication that the staff were being secretly watched, though the knives and forks always seemed to be on the wrong sides, even when the staff were certain they’d placed them correctly.

  By early evening, the six members of Hardened’s trade delegation were ushered into the feasting room. All attendees were smartly dressed, as one would expect if one were trying to give a good impression. All persons, bar one. The one person looking the same as he had done on his arrival was, of course, Tan Skulks. He was the sort of man who would arrive at a wedding in a pair of shorts. In reality, Heathen Spout was slightly relieved that Skulks hadn’t seen fit to indulge his eye for fashion, for when he chose his own fashion items he could quite easily make a pratfall of clowns look like they were dressed for a funeral in comparison. She almost managed to convince herself that his black tunic, trousers and boots looked just smart enough, though she had to pretend there were no signs of rips and tears poorly patched up.

  Skulks for his part, was oblivious. He was more concerned about the wellbeing of the delegation, for he had seen what was going on in the kitchen. Though it was considered crass to arrive at a Rhultian feast with weapons, Skulks had his dagger-swords carefully tucked away about his person. He was very good at hiding them and they betrayed no bulge.

  Slipper and Souter were in their formal attire and Captain Honey was looking splendid in a full-length red dress, replete with ruffs and cuffs. Skulks was certain she had concealed a variety of sharp and unpleasant implements designed to cause injury and worse. Adept Berry had a patchwork of mage wards surrounding herself, which only Skulks could see. They looked sophisticated and he thought that she might yet make a powerful wizard. All things considered, they were quite well-prepared for anything that King Meugh might try, bar a full-scale assault by three hundred armed men, though the latter wouldn’t do his international relations much good.

  As they were sitting at the table, King Meugh was already doing his best to damage these international relations, for he kept them waiting a full fifty minutes before he arrived, during which time neither food nor drink was served. The room was otherwise empty of people, leaving the Hardened delegation to engage in quiet small talk. Eventually, Meugh arrived through a different door to that which they had entered. It was a bigger, grander door, meant for the King’s arrival. Wibnius Ploot
was with him, as well as two soldier-types who remained behind and flanked the door. Even from here it could be seen that one of them was blinking excessively, as if his eye had suffered a recent trauma.

  King Meugh was tall and exceptionally handsome, dressed in deep red silks and furs. When he spoke it was in a rich, deep rumble that Skulks imagined made him an excellent orator.

  “My friends!” spoke the King, with a smile on his face which suggested to all the world that he was seeing the most cherished people in his entire life. “I offer my humblest apologies for keeping you waiting so long.”

  Skulks was not fooled by the handsome visage, rumbling voice, nor the excessive perfumes worn by King Meugh, for his Wielder’s eyes were able to penetrate the fleshly disguise. He didn’t know what had happened to the original man, but certainly he was dead and in his place was a demon, now masquerading as the former King Affluent Meugh. As the outer face moved, Skulks could see the narrow, slitted eyes behind moving evilly over the guests as it sized them up. Evidently unable to hide its stench, it attempted to conceal the odour beneath layers of fine scents, in order to maintain the pretence of humanity.

  In other parts of Rhult which would have considered themselves more civilized, the arrival of royalty would have been followed by thirty minutes of standing up, sitting down, smiling, shaking hands, bowing, curtseying, scraping and waiting in order to follow the rules of politeness before the king or queen parked their arse on their seat. Happily, Casks still retained certain customs from its smuggler roots and King Meugh pulled his own seat out and sat down immediately, with Wibnius Ploot sitting next to him. Introductions were quickly made, with Skulks being described as Hardened’s premier hotleaf merchant.