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

by Max Anthony

  With a graceful pirouette and a forward tumble Honey saw the remaining two men off, one dead and the other screaming as he clutched his face. By now, the sound of combat was starting to bring attention to this area of the palace. Guards could be heard scrambling for weapons, with metal scraping upon stone as men hurried in their direction.

  Skulks felt it best if they made for a service exit, knowing these to be less well guarded, as well as allowing them to escape more quickly into the streets where they had a better chance to lose their pursuers. Calling quietly ahead, he directed them towards the kitchens which was an area of the palace he knew well for he’d spent some considerable time there, watching the staff and stealing the food.

  Skulks found his Wielding skills to be useful here, for he locked every door behind the group, making it difficult for the guards to keep up. Assuming that he had bought them all some time, Skulks paused in order to pick up a bread bun that had been left carelessly on a bench.

  “Tan! Not now!” hissed Spout, waving at him to keep up.

  Skulks knew that people in this situation were expected to throw the bread bun dismissively over their shoulder, but for now he was too hungry, so stuffed it into his mouth where his nimble teeth were able to chew on it without molesting the capabilities of his sword hands. He soon caught up with the fleeing group, just as they entered the laundry.

  “Over there!” he said, pointing to a door in the distance. He exerted his powers over locked portals and wrenched it open from afar, letting in the night air, as well as several thousand night-flies. These night-flies were harmless, but they were attracted to white-coloured objects. Soon they were dotted over every sheet and towel in the room, which would all have to be re-washed in the morning. Batting these night-flies from their eyes and mouths, the Hardened trade delegation made good its escape into a side courtyard. The escape was short-lived, for Wibnius Ploot was there with a coterie of armed men.

  “Did you think you could escape me?” Ploot asked, wobbling on his feet.

  Adept Berry made preparations to combat Ploot, directing energies to her magical wards and beginning a spell that would make Ploot speak backwards, to make it difficult for him to form his own spells. She called it Berry’s Backwardiser, and would have found it ineffective against Ploot, for he was wise to such ploys. However, she didn’t need to complete the spell, for at that moment, Ploot fell face-first onto the flags. Skulks noticed blood dribbling from one of the fallen wizard’s ears.

  “I thought his slice of beef looked a bit funny,” said Captain Honey, looking as pleased as punch. Skulks could have kissed her for this splendid bit of poisoning and wasn’t even disappointed that he hadn’t thought of it himself. For now, the odds were somewhat more even; with Ploot dead there were only twelve men left to prevent their escape. Men who were foolishly lacking in the ranged weapons which might have saved them.

  Within a moment, Captain Honey was amongst them, cutting hamstrings. Skulks appeared from behind, stabbing two in debilitating places. On the other side of the courtyard, Berry’s new spell had reached completion and a pig appeared. This wasn’t the sort of pig that snuffles meekly in its pen, awaiting the inevitable conversion into chops and bacon, rather it was a Treadsian Foultusk. Smaller than a domestic pig, these beasts were covered in a wiry brown hair and were renowned for having a particularly bad temperament, as well as a fondness for strawberries. Skulks watched as it barrelled into the close-gathered group of guards and was relieved that it was not a baboon for once.

  The sounds of metal on stone, shouting and squealing were heard in the courtyard for a short time, followed by the sounds of footsteps fleeing the courtyard at speed and leaving behind only a few groans and some minor screaming. Skulks took the lead now, for he knew the best route to get to the docks, avoiding the greatest number of King’s Ears at the same time. He had Ferty Slipper over one shoulder, who was finding Skulks to have an especially unpleasant jouncing motion to his stride as they made best speed towards the Hardened’s Reach. Skulks had tried to put Heathen Spout over the other shoulder, but a few choice words and a raised fist had put paid to his attempts at gallantry.

  As they passed The Ambassadorial Meugh tavern, a King’s Ear peeped out around a corner. It wasn’t usual to see a group like this one barrelling along the street at such a late hour, so he stepped forward, confident in his self-importance as one of the King’s men. Moments later, he was gasping and wheezing through a crushed windpipe and although he’d survive, he’d speak for the rest of his life in the high-pitched voice of a young child.

  The deck of the Hardened’s Reach was astir as they ran up the boarding plank, though not all of this excitement was because the crew were happy to see them. The ship was under attack, with more black-clad men swarming over it. Skulks watched as Laverty Trews swung a hooked stick which he used to hurl a man over the side. Captain Winkle was near the wheel, holding a thin-bladed sword which Skulks had thought was for decoration, but now seemed to be adequately piercing the flesh of Meugh’s assassins.

  Having found the crew to be unexpectedly alert and competent, Meugh’s men were already hard-pressed. The arrival of Skulks, Honey and Berry quickly turned things against them and they found their flesh being stabbed, burned, kicked and bitten when they would have rather returned home with it undamaged. It didn’t take long before the first brave soul jumped over the side. Others followed him, leaving only those with a misplaced sense of duty behind to receive the gentle ministrations of Honey’s toe-end or Skulks’ fist.

  “Welcome aboard!” said Captain Winkle cheerily. “Shall we set sail, do you think?”

  “By all means, Captain! Make haste for Hardened!” agreed Heathen Spout.

  Ropes were cut and the sails unfurled as the crew below decks used long poles to force the ship away from the docks. Soon there was room for them to dip the oars into the water and they strained as human muscle fought to overcome the inertia of the ship. Within fifteen minutes, the Hardened’s Reach had pulled clear of the Casks docks, was under sail and heading for home.

  On its return journey, it was slightly lighter than the outward trip. This was not only because the crew had eaten a quantity of the provisions and the trade delegation had been forced to leave much of its luggage behind, but because the Wielder known as Tan Skulks was not on board.

  Fifteen

  Mindful of his promise to rescue the Warp and the Weft from their captivity, Skulks had dropped from the side of the Hardened’s Reach a little way from the docks. Even though his clothes and dagger-swords were something of an encumbrance, he’d managed to swim half a mile upriver in order that he could enter Casks a distance away from where the trade delegation had made its escape.

  After his unwanted swim, Skulks found himself squelching with every step and was irritated to find one boot squeaking where the other did not. On top of that, his clothes were clinging to him and he was leaving a trail of dripping water that might be compromising in the near future. Though Skulks wasn’t especially bothered by the cold, he felt that he had little choice but to locate somewhere to dry himself. Either that or throw his clothes away and risk frightening the ladies of Casks by walking the streets with his giblets dangling free.

  Feeling he had come up with a good plan, Skulks broke into Meugh’s palace and set a fire in the hearth of Captain Honey’s old room, having found that the corridors had already been cleared of the dead. As it happens, this idea was not the most practical one he’d ever come up with, for the palace was still in a state of great agitation. Enough reports had now drifted in for them to be sure that the trade delegation had escaped, so the searching activity was dying off, but patrols had been trebled and it had taken Skulks some effort to get here undetected.

  There was still a tray of meat, cheese, bread and pastries on a table, for the palace staff were not yet trained to perfection. Some of the meat was looking past its best, so Skulks helped himself to bread and pastries as he sat in front of the fire, with the Wielding-locked door
providing him a modicum of security.

  He waited almost two hours to give the palace enough time to quieten down and also for full darkness to descend on Casks. After the first hour he was pleased to find that his errant boot was no longer squeaking and that his clothing had dried out sufficiently to be no threat to his stealth. As he waited, hunger got the better of him and he finished the slightly-suspect meat and the sweaty cheese. They tasted no different and though his stomach gurgled and churned a little more than normal, he felt no ill-effects.

  “Where would I find these wizards?” he’d asked himself during his self-imposed captivity in the room. With no answer forthcoming from his mouth or brain, he decided it best to start in the royal quarters, for it was the only part of the palace he had yet to visit. Not that he’d been worried by the risk of discovery, it was more that he didn’t want to be the one to have jeopardised international relations if he’d been caught through carelessness.

  He left the room and followed the corridor back towards the main feasting room. The room through which King Meugh had entered on the first evening was locked, but there were no guards standing before it. Reminding himself to be watchful for magic traps, Skulks checked the door and found it clear. The lock was a complicated one, for the interior fixtures and fittings were being supplied to the highest specification. In spite of its brave stubbornness, Skulks soon had it coaxed open. He let the door drift silently ajar as he did when he wasn’t sure what lay beyond. Doors did occasionally drift open and Skulks had long ago found that if they drifted open silently and if no-one came through the door, onlookers would mostly put it down to the wind. Even if it was indoors, locked and enemies of the state were known to be afoot.

  There was a rustle and a clank, followed by some huffing and puffing. A guard stationed down the corridor on the other side of the door made his way along and opened the door further to look into the feasting room.

  “Must have been the wind,” he said to himself.

  “Is there anyone there, Jegs?” whispered his colleague from thirty feet away. “We’ve been told to look out for them Hardened assassins.”

  Having closed and re-locked the door, Jegs made his way back to his post.

  “I think it must have just blown open.”

  “Yeah. Lots of wind in the palace lately.”

  “All them outside doors being left open and everything.”

  “Yeah.”

  As Jegs and Troff did the mental work of squeezing the impossibility of a locked door blowing open into a package they could understand, Tan Skulks made his way deeper into the palace. This whole section of the building was unfamiliar to him. There were doors to left and right, while guards patrolled the oil-lamp lit corridors. Realising he needed a plan of some sort in order to limit his directionless wandering, Skulks set his mind to it. In his experience, Things of Importance were either up or down, and rarely in the middle. A wizard’s tower would invariably have the occupant’s most precious possessions at the very top. The middle rooms might contain hangers with spare robes, a toilet, a kitchen and, rarely, a bath. These middle rooms would never have anything important in them. A king, queen or rich noble would also generally store their valuables on the higher floors of their palaces. Skulks paused as he thought some more.

  “Prisoners, even valuable ones are usually kept at the lowest point of a palace,” he told himself. “So that their wailing and moaning doesn’t disturb their captor’s slumber.”

  Having convinced himself of the obvious, Skulks ignored a nearby flight of stairs leading upwards and started hunting for stairs leading in the opposite direction. With so many doors, he started to become concerned that he might not be able to locate the Warp and the Weft soon. He could get through these doors easily, but he still had to spend time listening for activity on the other side, check for traps and so forth in order not to bumble into the clutches of armed guards. By this point, he’d opened five doors and found all of them leading to empty or partially-furnished rooms. Even though the central section of the palace looked complete from the outside, it was far from finished inside.

  Luck was on his side tonight. As he walked the length of one particular corridor, he saw a piece of paper tacked roughly onto the surface of a door. “Dungeon Door. This Way Up”, it said. Whoever had fitted this door must have forgotten to remove the label when they’d mounted it onto its hinges.

  “Splendid!” thought Skulks to himself as he inspected the door for traps. It was locked, but there was nothing magical lurking around the frame. The door itself was made of thick wood, with black-painted metal bands across it to provide extra strength and an appearance of menace. Where moments ago it had been locked, it was now open and Tan Skulks had passed inside, fervently hoping that the only wizards he’d find down here would be the Warp and the Weft. He pulled the dungeon door closed behind him and used his Wielding to give the lock a little nudge, to make it complain loudly next time it was opened with the key.

  Behind the door were steps leading downwards. Oil lamps were dotted along the walls, to reduce the risk of a broken neck when descending. These would have been more useful had they been lit, but for now they appeared to have been forgotten and were sullenly perched upon the wall in darkness. King Meugh had yet to realise that there was more to running a palace than throwing up some walls and sticking a door or window in the holes. Or maybe he realised and just didn’t care. He was a demon, after all.

  At the bottom of the stairs there was a room, which led to another room. This in turn led to another room and another. Each of these rooms had light, but it was a glum glow, cast from glass balls embedded into the walls. There were also doors in their plenty, with sliding hatches covering grilles through which one could look or talk. It appeared that King Meugh was expecting to hold lots of prisoners, for there were cells enough to house a medium-sized neighbourhood. Groans and moans there were too, to inform Skulks that some of these cells were already occupied. The sound of a voice broke through the hubbub of misery.

  “Shut up, you horrible miscreants!” This voice was followed by the unmistakable sound of a hard wooden stick connecting with metal bars.

  The voice failed to quell the moaning and groaning, in fact seeming to cause it to be renewed and become even more piteous. There were further banging noises.

  “I thought I tolds you lot to be quiet! If I have to tells you lot one more time, I’m going to start bashing someone with my stick!”

  By this point, Skulks had located the owner of the voice and was watching him unseen from a darkened corner. The man was huge. So large, in fact, that Skulks was at a loss as to why he needed his four feet truncheon in the first place. Skulks had recently travelled with some of Hardened’s bargemen and they had shoulders and backs twice as wide across as his own. The fellow in Meugh’s dungeon was broader still and Skulks was wondering to himself if he was even fully human. At the giant man’s belt dangled a large bunch of keys and although Skulks had no need of them, he’d always liked the idea of stealing a bunch of keys from a warden’s belt. He had just about convinced himself that there was no point in taking the risk, when Heathen Spout appeared in his head once more, to convey some of her wisdom upon him.

  “Steal the keys, Tan. It’s what I would do.”

  Having pulled the wool over his own eyes by providing himself with this erroneous sagacity which Heathen Spout would never have contemplated, Skulks set off to remove the bunch of keys. The dungeon keeper, who was a half-man, half-giant called Bunty was now sitting back in his chair, which creaked as he settled upon it.

  “Aaah!” he rumbled as he wriggled into a comfortable position.

  Even though his appearance suggested he might be clumsy and lumbering, Bunty was neither of these things. Nor was he particularly stupid, though he liked to pretend that he was. As it happens, much of what he said to the prisoners was for show, as he knew that a frightened prisoner was less likely to try any funny business. Tan Skulks wasn’t normally clumsy, lumbering or stupid either,
but this evening he was working on all three. Having positioned himself successfully behind Bunty, he reached out for the bunch of keys, intending to lift them from the belt and then make good his escape through a doorway leading deeper into the dungeon. Just when he thought they were free from their hook, they snared on a piece of the rough thread which comprised the giant’s shirt and fell to the floor with a rattle.

  “Eh? What’s this?” asked Bunty, looking around and swiping out with a backhand. He caught Skulks on the chest and hurled him across the room. He skittered and slid, before coming to a halt adjacent to a wall.

  “What are you doing here, little man?” asked Bunty, standing his full seven-and-a-half feet tall.

  “Trying to steal your keys,” responded Skulks, dusting himself down. “Unsuccessfully.”

  “Why do you want my keys?” asked Bunty in curiosity, for the long hours down here were boring.

  “My two beloved children are incarcerated in this dungeon! Snatched from my very arms because my taxes were one Scroat short of the minimum!”

  “The King’s taxes must be paid, or before you know it, everyone’s a Scroat short. And what then for the rule of law?” responded the giant to Skulks’ outburst of emotion.

  “This is true, but why must children suffer for the poverty of their parents? I had come to put myself in a cell in their stead, that I might later plead my case direct to the King!”