Something Stinks in Deep Cove (The Vellian Books Book 4)

by Reed, Grant T.

  Merle steadied himself and exhaled. He felt the blood pounding in his ears and thought that if it weren’t for Bailiff Oppie’s grip, he would surely topple from his chair. A snap filled the courtroom and Bailiff Oppie was thrown back from Merle’s side. The man cried out in pain and shook his arm forcefully to remove the tingling. Down came the orange jumper in one well rehearsed move as Merle’s climbed into the air, making a break for the back doors.

  From the depths of the onlookers Vic stood and launched himself at the fleeing dragon. A stick of cotton candy flew through the air as the dullard’s hands encircled Merle’s body. Both of them, and the candy, came crashing down amongst the benches. “I got ‘im!” screamed Vic. “Dirdy crimnal was trying to ‘scape!” He thrust his prize out for the judge. Beside him Frank moaned and hid behind his own blue puff of cotton candy.

  The judge stood gaping at the dragon, a look of fury etched on his face. “You just added a year to your sentence,” he said coldly. “Somebody bind him, and for god’s sake watch out for his electrical charge!”

  12

  Willie’s Game

  The sun was hot, but not uncomfortably so. The warm breezes washed over the two men, carrying the scent of flowers with it. Willie and his friend lay in the tall grasses and watched the clouds drift overhead. The bowman chewed on a blade of grass and pointed to a puffy white cloud. “You see that? It’s a pinto pony!”

  “Look like dog to me,” said the chief from beside him.

  “Did I ever tell you about the time me and the kids won at the horse races? We had one gon to our name and needed a long shot to get me into that tournament at the Cassadian Games. We picked a winner, though.”

  “You full of stories, Willie,” agreed the chief with a snort.

  “That was the best time of my life. I mean, being on the run and all was no fun, but destroying Vanrai Asimo in that archery tournament was something I’ll cherish forever.” A thoughtful look crossed his face.

  “Bear!” said both men simultaneously, pointing at another of the drifting clouds.

  Willie chuckled and sat up. He could just see over the top of the swaying grasses of the savannah. In the distance, red rock formations lined either side of the great valley. Further down, stood the majestic silhouette of the spirit tree. “Would you look at all them birds,” said Willie. “Do they live in the tree?”

  “Sure,” agreed the dark skinned man. The little chief pushed himself up with a grunt. “Mogi know tree is sacred. So do all animals. Tree is life.”

  “And death?” asked Willie.

  “Both,” agreed the man. “We go to tree now?”

  “I don’t know,” said Willie. “The sun feels good on my skin. He lay back in the grasses. A lady bug alighted on his hand and Willie watched it crawl across his fingers. “Is it far?”

  “Not far.” The chief lay back down.

  “And the guardian will be there?”

  “They always close. They know when you come for tree.”

  “Can I kill the beast?”

  “It not beast, it Totuonetum. Question is not can Willie kill, but will Willie try to kill?”

  “I guess,” agreed Willie, not understanding. “Have you seen my bow?” he asked abruptly. He scratched at his eyebrow, sending the ladybug into the air. “I don’t remember where I left it.”

  “You need bow?” asked the old man. He looked at Willie with a toothless smirk.

  Above the two men, the sky grew darker and the clouds thinned. The air was colder now, the sun not so warm. Willie shivered and rubbed at the goose bumps on his arms. “No, maybe not.” he mumbled. The air turned warm and the clouds were large and puffy in the sky above them. The sweet perfume of the flowers washed over Willie again, and he sighed in contentment

  “Buffalo,” said his friend, pointing at a newly formed cloud.

  * * * *

  Roget eased himself from the tree, his feet settling on solid ground. Hunkering against the trunk of the willow, the thug surveyed the underbrush in the predawn light. For many minutes, he sat on his haunches, motionless. At last, he rolled his shoulders and rubbed his hands together for warmth. Roget was not known for his thinking, but this is not to say he was not an intelligent man. Most people took him for a brute and a thug, with more brawn than brain. Roget was indeed a thug, a murderer even, but he was good at what he did, and you couldn’t be good without the ability to form a plan.

  Roget stood and stretched. The forest was still all around him. Slowly, he left the security of the willow’s enveloping limbs. He was careful to avoid any sticks that would snap underfoot as he searched for a source of water. The previous night, he had not known which direction he was fleeing. Blinding fear had driven him deep into the woods. Coming across the giant willow, he had clambered into its boughs and pulled his hunting knife from his belt. Twice he had heard the beast howling, and each time he had shivered with fear, goose bumps breaking out all over his skin and the hair on his neck rising.

  He had spent the night in the upper branches of the willow, his heart pounding in terror. He could not stop thinking about those few seconds on the rock cliff. One minute, he had been on the verge of victory as he climbed down the rocks. Willie had lain bent and broken, below him. In the next minute, his partner’s skull was crushed in front of him, and Minx’s lifeless body left dangling from the jaws of that silver furred monster. Roget shuddered again as his mind replayed the sharp crack of Minx’s skull.

  Minx and he were partners on a job, and that was about all that could be said about it. They were not friends, hell, they weren’t even close. What scared Roget was the speed and ferocity with which Minx’s life had ended. Had he been the man atop the outcrop, it would have been him that was dead, and not Minx.

  Roget stopped to assess the lightening skyline. As the darkness retreated, the landmarks became clearer. He used them to amend his path, so as to come out on the trail that would lead back to the farm they had come from three day’s past. Carefully, he pushed on along his chosen route.

  Roget had never failed to fulfil a contract, and this time the stakes were high. He had been hired by a Syndicate man to find Willie, take care of the aging bowman, and to bring the famous Impaler back to Cassadia. He had signed on, together with Minx, for a small fortune, but the price of failure would also be colossal. ‘I should have knifed him on the road,’ thought Roget, with regret.

  At that time, he had been leery of Willie’s traveling companion. The younger man was a concern, for sure. Roget knew a killer when he saw one. To top things off, Minx had gone off to hunt their breakfast when the chance to confront Willie alone arose, leaving Roget without backup. Trying to extort the properties from Willie had been a mistake. Sometimes, it didn’t hurt to gamble on side profits, but in this case, it had meant that his opportunity to strike was lost. ‘If I hadn’t acted with greed, Willie would be dead, and I would be half way back to Cassadia.’

  Roget pulled himself up a ravine and took the time to look back over the gulley he had crossed. His blood was moving again, and his body was finally warming. He peered up the incline in front of him and noted a rocky outcrop he would need to navigate. He set off, scrambling over the steep terrain and carefully avoiding any loose rocks. He pulled himself up to the cliff top and listened. In the distance, he heard running water. He could vaguely recall splashing his way across the shallows of a river last night during his blind run.

  He pushed on in the direction of the sound, snaking his way through the brush, which thickened as he neared the river. He was forced to thrust aside dozens of saplings as thick as his thumb. Thorn bushes grew profusely along the river’s edge, and he growled in frustration as every step saw his leggings or sleeves catch in the damnable foliage. Easing himself to the water’s edge, he looked along the open river channel to his left and right. A songbird swooped across the waterway, but there remained no other movement.

  To cross the Syndicate was a death sentence. Roget knew this. If he didn’t finish the contract, he
would never be able to return home. Worse than that, he may very well have someone come after him. He rubbed madly at his temples, trying to erase the image of the creature as it leapt from the rocks with Minx’s body. He lowered his head to the water and drank a few terse mouthfuls, then straightened up and stepped from the bank into the swirling eddy beneath him. He tensed as the chilled autumn rainwaters flowed into his boots. He sloshed his way across the narrow shallows as quickly as he dared, cursing as he slipped on the rounded river stones. Climbing the far bank, he noted too late, the raspberry cane waiting to greet him.

  ‘God damn it,’ he cursed as a sharp thorn drew a jagged line of blood across the back of hand. Using his waterlogged boot, he angrily trampled the bushes down in front of him. He pushed on through the thorns and made his way deeper into the woods. Less than a hundred yards away, he came across the trail that had led him into these cursed hills. Turning to his right, he looked along the path that he knew would take him from these nightmarish woods and back to the safety of civilization. ‘But how safe will I be?’

  The sound of a branch snapping behind him, sent panic racing through his veins, and he swiftly ducked behind a rotten log. His hands were sweating and his mouth was dry as his eyes frantically searched the woods for whatever had made the noise. The silhouette of a man threaded its way from amongst the trees, moving along the path. The man was coming from the high ground and heading towards the lower farm. Recognising one of the brothers he had hired to trail Willie, he pushed himself out of the dirt and rushed over to greet the newcomer.

  “Ho,” he called in a low whisper. Bael looked over and slowed his hectic pace. Roget approached the man, but noted the slight scowl on the hunter’s face. “Where’s your brother?” he asked.

  “Avros and the two men you were following are holed up in the cave,” said Bael. “You should know that Avros and I want no more part of whatever it was you were after.” He glared at Roget, as if daring him to argue.

  Roget blinked and shook his head in a show of defeat. He noted the woodsman’s axe, still attached to his belt. “I’m done with that,” said Roget. “Did you see that thing, last night? It killed Minx, right in front of me.”

  Bael’s features softened somewhat and he glanced behind him, as if Roget’s words had reminded him of the creature’s existence. “No, I didn’t see it, though it followed us to the cave. I heard it plainly enough.” He looked frightened at the memory.

  “Where are you going?” asked Roget. “Why didn’t they come along?” He bent low to tie one of his boots, which had come undone.

  “Those guys are in rough shape,” replied Bael.

  “That creature get at ‘em?” asked Roget, with his best look of concern.

  “No. Avros twisted his knee, and the other fellow hurt his arm. I was told you attacked his friend.”

  “Nah, it was a misunderstanding,” corrected Roget, with another shake of his head. “He slipped on the rocks in the dark and fell from his post. I never touched him.”

  Bael frowned again. “As I have said, your quarrel is not my concern. You hired us to track them, and we did that. Our business with you is concluded.”

  “Sure,” agreed Roget, shrugging his shoulders. He shuffled his weight onto his other foot and loosened the laces of this boot before tightening them again.

  “The horses have been hunted and scattered by the creature, so I’m going back to that farm for new mounts. You’re welcome to join me.” Bael’s eyes scanned the woods again.

  “No thanks,” said Roget, having finished tying his boot. In one fluid movement he stood and rammed his knife into Bael’s guts. The hunter struggled briefly, but then dropped to his knees. Roget pulled his knife free, and Bael’s lifeless body toppled into the dirt. Roget sheathed his knife and removed the hatchet from the man’s belt. Using the ties to secure the weapon to his own belt, he then dragged the corpse from the trail, by his feet.

  Kneeling by the body, he removed the man’s pack and rations before dragging some brush over the body. Digging into the pack, he removed an apple and took a bite of the fruit. He wiped the juice from his chin and nodded his thanks to the dead man. Returning to the path, he took the briefest of glances back at the body to assess its visibility from the trail. Satisfied it was concealed, he struck off in the direction of the cave. If the men were injured, he might still be able to finish the job and fulfil this damned contract.

  * * * *

  Garrett let go of the tree trunk and leaned back against the pebble strewn slope. On the other side of the log, Avros did the same. “I’m sorry,” said the woodsman. “It’s just too heavy, and I can’t get a solid purchase with this knee.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” breathed Garrett. His wrist was killing him. He gingerly massaged it. “It was just an idea.” They had planned on dragging the heavy brush up onto their ledge to use as a sort of barricade, but now he could see it was too cumbersome for them to move with their injuries. “We’ll chop it, for firewood.”

  It was now afternoon, and despite the terrors of the previous night, the morning had passed uneventfully. The sun had risen, and a clear blue day had erased much of the fear they’d felt in the darkness. The two men had gone over their supplies and gathered as much firewood as they could. Garrett was skeptical about their food supply lasting, but at least with the gurgling stream nearby, he knew they wouldn’t go thirsty.

  Leaving the brushwood where it lay, he crawled up into the mouth of the cave. A lazy spiral of smoke greeted him, and he went over to the fire to throw more branches on it. Despite his new sense of calm, there was no way he would let the fire go out. The beast was real, and he knew it could return, day or night.

  Behind him, Avros struggled up onto the ledge. Garrett walked to the spot where Willie lay on his bedroll. He had not moved. Garrett scooped a handful of water from the pot he had left beside his friend. He dribbled the liquid into Willie’s mouth and watched as the man swallowed. “Willie?” he whispered, but there was no response. Garrett picked up the Impaler and laid it in Willie’s arms. It was no good to Garrett, with his broken wrist, and part of him hoped the familiar feel of his cherished bow would wake Willie up. “I got your Impaler, for you,” he said, and placed Willie’s hand atop the polished wood.

  “I once seen a man knocked out for three days after a fall from a horse,” said Avros. “His body needs to repair itself, is all.” Garrett did not respond. He went back to the fire and retrieved a pole he had cut earlier, thrusting its sharpened end into the fire. After a moment, he rotated it in the hot coals. “What do you think about supper?” asked the woodsman, trying to judge Garrett’s mood. “We have apples, two loaves, a small brick of cheese, and two pheasants that I cooked last night.”

  Garrett looked over and nodded, knowing the other man was trying to get him to focus on the present. “We’ll have the meat, for sure,” he said. “I don’t want the smell to attract that thing back here.”

  “I don’t imagine it will matter much,” said Avros, with a forced laugh. “To it, we’re supper.” He went to the cave wall and grabbed a second spear that Garrett had made for him. He stuck the pole into the coals beside Garrett’s. “How far do you think my brother has made it?” he asked, changing the subject.

  “A few miles, maybe,” replied Garrett, removing his spear from the flames and rolling it on the floor. The end was blackened and on fire, but the flames were extinguished as he rubbed it against the stone.

  “I don’t fancy another night in here,” said Avros sincerely.

  Garrett remained quiet for some time. “No,” he sighed, at last, “me either. Regrettably, we have no choice but to wait for your brother and the horses.” He glanced to Avros and forced a smile. “Let’s make the best of it shall we? How about you get those birds warmed up over the fire and we’ll have ourselves a proper meal.”

  13

  System Shock

  “OPEN CELL BLOCK TWO!” the guard’s gruff call drifted down the hallway and was followed by a loud
buzzer. The Iron door clanged as the lock slid open, and the guard shoved Merle forward with his billy club. Guard Gunther had been anything but gentle, this morning. He was a large black man with a belly the size of a keg of beer and fingers the size of sausages. Because of this, his uniform was stretched to its tearing point. Together, the pair waddled down the hall, one because of his leg chains, and the other because of his immense weight.

  Merle carried a folded towel, on which rested a toothbrush and a bar of lye. As if the cavity search hadn’t been enough, he had received a rap on the head from the man’s club when he mentioned there was hair embedded in his newly acquired soap.

  Guard Gunther grunted as he pushed the dragon into the noisy hall. Dozens of orange sleeves protruded through the bars of the cells, and the inmates inside were not shy in welcoming Merle. Gunther halfheartedly rapped at the bars with his billy club. For his part, Merle kept his eyes locked on the curly black hair embedded in his soap. ‘One foot in front of the other,’ he told himself as he trudged along.

  “That ain’t no dragon; he’s barely a lizard.”

  “Shut up. He’s big enough to get a pair of boots out of him.”

  “Hey, look! It’s a Rod holder.” Merle knew better than to look at Rod. The last thing he needed was to make friends in here.

  “Let’s go, number eight eighty-seven,” said Gunther, slapping a sweaty palm on Merle’s shoulder and spinning the dragon to his left. “OPEN CELL ELEVEN!” he screamed. The cell door banged open in front of them. Gunther’s club dug into the flesh between Merle’s shoulder blades. “Meet eight eighty-six.”