Barclay, J [2008] Vault of Deeds

by James Barclay

  ‘I thought so.’

  When they both had trays of food, Grincheux chose a table away from the babbling hordes and close to a window overlooking the quadrangle. It was empty for now. Staves and wooden swords stood in racks. A caretaker raked the sand, hiding the odd blood stain. Grincheux tried to ignore the faint nausea the smell of the food had brought on.

  ‘How do they expect heroes to grow big and strong eating this feeble excuse for pie?’

  ‘They don’t, dear scribe. They expect to grow them mean. Good food comes with the sweet taste of victory on the battlefield.’

  ‘Cassandra, you have swallowed the text book along with your…whatever it is you have there,’ said Grincheux. ‘I have seen what heroes eat beyond these fetid walls and it is not likely to give them a mean streak. A heart condition, yes. Mean, no.’

  ‘So tell me,’ said Cassandra. ‘Where does the evil lie? What’s been going on?’

  Grincheux happily laid his fork back on his plate and moved his tray aside. He glanced around to make sure he couldn’t be casually overheard.

  ‘There’s been a murder,’ he whispered. ‘Here at the Academy.’

  Cassandra blinked slowly and then a smile crept across her face. Her eyes sparkled. Grincheux felt a stirring.

  ‘This is a test, right? Something a scribe does to his new hero.’

  Grincheux sighed. ‘No. I wish it were. Please stop grinning like that. This is serious.’

  ‘Well it must be a joke. I think we’d all have heard about it if people were getting bumped off here, don’t you think? I mean. This is the Academy. We’re the good guys.’

  Grincheux’s ears pricked.

  ‘Thank you so much for pointing that out at such volume,’ he hissed. ‘Swift of blade, sluggish of brain.’

  Cassandra blushed. ‘Oops.’

  ‘Let me try another tack. Don’t you think it a little odd that so many of our greatest heroes have had their innards spread over so many battlefields just lately?’

  Cassandra nodded. ‘Well yes but these things happen.’

  ‘No they don’t! Do you know the last time we lost this many battles in a row?’

  Cassandra blew out her cheeks. ‘Never?’ she ventured.

  ‘Exactly. And it means there are dozens of scribes cluttering up the common room. One of them clearly got a little curious and has paid for it rather severely.’

  ‘Someone murdered a scribe?’

  The sound of cutlery clattering on plates echoed around the canteen. Conversation ceased with the finality of a dagger through the temple. Grincheux forced a loud laugh into the utter silence and clapped his hands.

  ‘No, no! That’s the joke you see? No one murders scribes, get it?’

  He spread his hands and pasted a bright sunny expression on his face. Some conversations began again. Altogether too many continued to stare. Cassandra’s face creased into a deep, confused frown.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I don’t get it. Were you joking or not, then? I’m not very good at jokes.’

  ‘Or thinking, or whispering,’ snapped Grincheux.

  ‘I’m very good at punching though,’ she said.

  Grincheux’s smile was thin to the point of vanishing. ‘Well you might need to be. Look, and don’t take this the wrong way but please don’t utter a sound for the moment. Let me explain. That wasn’t a joke. I was trying to deflect the unwanted attention of the rest of the school. Understand?’

  Cassandra nodded, still scowling and clearly debating whether to involve him in a little combat practice.

  ‘A scribe has been murdered and it has been covered up. I want to find out why because it must link to why the forces of Goedterre are being slaughtered right now. And I would think that you, desirous of long life, would want to know why as well. Will you help me?’

  ‘Can’t you just go and see Principal Kettifer?’

  ‘What if he is part of it?’ asked Grincheux. Cassandra snorted. ‘Nevertheless. Will you help me?’

  ‘How do you know this scribe is murdered not just dead of natural causes or an accident or something?’

  ‘It was no accident. It’s to do with the way his Book closed in the Vault of Deeds…look, can I tell you more on the way?’

  ‘The way where?’

  ‘To the Vault.’

  ‘Isn’t that currently out of bounds? I think I’ve got the memo somewhere.’

  Grincheux raised his eyebrows. ‘And should that not tell you something? When was the last time the Vault was off limits?’

  ‘Never?’

  ‘Go to the top of the class.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ‘There is an agreement. And you are breaking it merely by standing here.’

  ‘This renegotiation.’

  ‘That’s a terribly long word for you.’

  ‘[snarl] This terribly sharp axe.’

  ‘[sigh] All right. What do you consider needs renegotiation?’

  ‘Date of ultimate victory.’

  ‘That is not something I am prepared to discuss.’

  ‘I very persuasive.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘This terribly sharp axe.’

  ‘Point…err…blade taken. Let’s talk further, away from the casual ear so to speak. This way, old chap. Perhaps you’d like to see how your offices are progressing.’

  ‘[grunt] What “offices”?’

  ‘For you, they would be dank, dripping dark hellholes filled with racks, coals and irons. Hot and cold running screaming, that sort of thing. Just along here on the left.’

  The voices died away to the rhythm of one leather booted footfall followed by one shambling impact. A door opened and closed. Cassandra, with Grincheux’s arm still barring her way down the stairs marked ‘Principal Only’, looked at the scribe. He was no oil painting at best but right now he appeared as if someone had left him out in the cold for far too long. And come to think of it, his grip on the door frame seemed frozen solid. Slowly, he registered her gaze.

  ‘You know who they are, don’t you?’ she said.

  ‘B-b-brilliant ded-d-duction.’

  ‘One was Principal Kettifer, wasn’t it? The other one sounded odd. Punch-drunk, you think?’

  Grincheux shook his head, it was a gradual process. ‘No. Orgascz.’

  ‘Orgaskcz?’

  ‘No. Orgascz. No ‘k.’’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  Grincheux wrinkled his nose and frowned. ‘Absolutely. He corrected me himself.’

  ‘No. Are you sure it was the Bloodchild?’

  Cassandra could feel her heart begin to pound with righteous anger. There was work to do here. Hero’s work.

  ‘Certain. I’d recognise that drooling tone anywhere.’

  Grincheux shuddered. Cassandra prised his hand from the doorframe and eyed the stairs. Heroes slew evil. Down there lurked evil.

  ‘Stinks,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t think Orgascz is terribly familiar with soap and water.’

  Cassandra drew herself up to her considerable height and pointed down the stairs with her sword, the graceful edge, Susurro.

  ‘We must go and confront the Bloodchild.’

  ‘No,’ hissed Grincheux. He was doing a lot of that lately. ‘Well, yes. But eventually, not this minute. You’re hardly dressed for battle and this Lord is tough. Really tough.’

  ‘All I need is my blessed blade, my God given speed and the courage that rests eternally in my heart.’

  Cassandra felt strength surge within her. Belief suffused her. Light encased her, or it should have done. Evil would quail. Grincheux did not. He did, however, look a little happier.

  ‘You know that’s actually very impressive. Keep it for later though. When there is no other choice.’

  ‘We do not have one now, other than to destroy evil and save Principal Kettifer from its clutches.’

  ‘Save? Did you listen to what was being said at all?’

  ‘I heard the Bloodchild threaten our beloved Principal with his
axe. Twice.’

  Grincheux wiped a hand over his face. ‘The subtle nuances passed you by then.’

  Cassandra knew her intelligence was being insulted again but couldn’t see why. She forced a smile on to her face.

  ‘Maybe. What are you talking about?’

  ‘Kettifer is in on whatever it is. He’s made a deal with evil. They’re building chambers for Bloodchild here, for God’s sake. Right here.’ Grincheux gripped her upper arms. ‘We have to follow them. Listen in. I have to hear them. You can challenge Bloodchild later if you really must.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘We need a confession. One that can’t be challenged. I’ll show you if we survive the eavesdropping. OK?’

  ‘I should bring my armour.’

  ‘Yes, a few dozen pounds of clanky metal will help our stealth enormously.’

  Cassandra grinned fiercely.

  ‘This terribly sharp sword,’ she said.

  Grincheux nodded approval. ‘Let’s go.’

  Life was a funny thing when you looked at it, thought Grincheux as they made their way warily down the steps. Yesterday, or it seemed like yesterday, he was scribe to a colossus of a hero. Vittore was the veteran of a hundred battles. A reputation unmatched for decades. A man whose ego was able to open doors well before he had to sully his hand upon them.

  And now he was scribe to a beanpole. Practically a school girl. Surprisingly strong and fast but a streaky thin beanpole nevertheless. Where he had taken positions on the hills above blood soaked battlefields to record the deeds of a truly great man, now he crept down a set of stairs into the bowels of the Academy that now stank like, well, that which bowels expelled.

  At the bottom of the stairs down which generations of scribes and heroes had come to view tales in the Vault of Deeds, and now mysteriously out of bounds to all but Kettifer, a corridor ran left and right. Left, as always, led to the grand arches and open spaces of the Vault, though it was strangely dark down there. Right… Grincheux blinked.

  ‘That’s a whole lot of construction work,’ he muttered.

  ‘Which way?’ asked Cassandra.

  Grincheux dragged himself from the ornate and hideous scrollwork; the vast cavern he could see down a brand new tunnel that burrowed into the depths of the academy’s foundations; and the multiple passages and doors that he could see and those he could only imagine. He focussed on Cassandra and tried not to think about the stunning variety of horrific odours that wafted up, the flickering of very hot fires and the pervading linger of brimstone.

  Grincheux pointed vaguely right. ‘That way, I suppose.’

  ‘What do you mean? I thought you came down here all the time.’

  ‘It isn’t quite as I remember it, my hero,’ said Grincheux testily. ‘Let’s just go quietly and listen at a few doors. I’m sure we’ll find them.’

  Shouts and hammering echoed up from the pit, if such it actually was. Grincheux fancied he could hear screams. Strange that the sounds didn’t make it up the stairs to the Academy proper. The walls were a canvas on which were projected plenty of lurid shadows of horned creatures and stooped creatures and creatures with more limbs than strictly necessary. Useful if a carpenter but an encumbrance if trying to blend in with the human population. And not exactly the sort of shapes commonly associated with Goedterre, let alone the Academy. All at their demonic tasks.

  ‘What is going on?’ he whispered. ‘What is all this?’

  ‘Shh,’ said Cassandra, her ear to a door. ‘I’m trying to listen for—’

  The Bloodchild’s bellow of frustration blew Cassandra across the designed damp of the passageway. The door rattled in its frame and a dark mist clouded out from the key hole and through the carefully sculpted gaps in the timbers. Cassandra rubbed at her ear.

  ‘I think I have found the evil one.’

  ‘Really?’ Grincheux couldn’t help but smile. He reached out a hand to help her up only to find she was already back at the door and about to lay her hand on the great black circular handle. ‘No. Don’t touch it.’

  Cassandra’s hand wavered above the dread iron. ‘I must confront the Bloodchild.’

  Grincheux blinked. ‘Your memory’s not so good, is it? Listen, incriminate, run and hide, challenge later. Remember?’

  ‘It is difficult. The enemy is within.’

  ‘And you will be a great hero with such courage already in your veins. But touch that handle now and all is lost. Good cannot touch the work of evil. The shrieks would raise armies to crush us.’

  Cassandra frowned. ‘There are no such armies here.’

  ‘Want to bet?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Trust me. Please. And give me what little patience you have.’

  Cassandra straightened and stared deep into Grincheux’s eyes. She stepped away from the door. Grincheux put his ear to the timbers. Not too close, mind you. He could still see the tendrils of black mist that were the remnants of Orgascz’s violent exhalation.

  ‘…yourself, my dear chap. Diplomacy is the art of relaxed persuasion. I really feel you should put my feet back on the ground and perhaps consider taking that talon from in front of my eye.’

  [growl] ‘You not listen. I unstoppable.’

  ‘You see I don’t think that’s quite true. Not just yet. Would you…? Thank you. Always nice to feel the earth beneath one’s feet.’

  ‘Explain. Clock ticking.’

  ‘It’s quite simple. We have not reached the tipping point yet. Whatever you think, your victory is not assured. Enough heroes survive to thwart you and I have to say that some of those coming through are of very high quality. Your own people still need more skills to ensure ultimate victory.’

  [demonic scoff] ‘Dark heroes victorious in many battles. Noose tightens. You play for time. There no time.’

  ‘Orgascz, Orgascz, Orgascz. There is so much you fail to understand which is why you came to me, yes?’ [indrawn breath] ‘Please don’t do that. Really not necessary.’

  ‘I not stupid.’

  ‘Knock me down if I give that impression.’

  [heavy thud]

  ‘I see. Fair enough. Thank you for avoiding my face.

  ‘Stomach soft and flabby. Make big target.’

  ‘I’ll get into the gym later. Look, Orgascz, I don’t mean to patronise but this is a deal. You’ve been hugely generous with your funds and for our part, we have delivered both in terms of buildings and provision of training information. The operation has been hugely successful. No one has any idea what is coming at them. All I’m asking is that you don’t rush and so let me get where I need to get with what I deserve. I’ve told you how much I can squeeze the timetable and it honestly cannot go any further. Uh, uh, please put me back down because I have something important to mention.’

  [grunt] ‘You like Vittore. Talk too much. Make point fast. My drool burning my feet.’

  ‘It is simply this. You can still be beaten. Patience will give you victory. We will all end this in the way we want. You lord of this world, me growing old in my own little way.’

  ‘You rich man.’

  ‘Every deal has its benefits.’

  Grincheux felt his hands being prised from the doorframe and his head being levered from the uneven timbers.

  ‘Heard enough?’ whispered Cassandra.

  Grincheux knew he was white and he could see he was trembling. He wasn’t sure his mouth would work so he just nodded.

  ‘Ungh,’ he managed, still wondering if he could believe what he thought he had.

  ‘What now? What did they say?’

  Grincheux shuddered. He was trying to stop the shock descending on him. He wasn’t sure he could even write it so much were his hands shaking and his brain a thick fudge.

  ‘Dark age,’ he croaked. ‘Ushered in by Kettifer. Just like Orgascz said.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Let’s move on,’ said Grincheux. ‘It isn’t safe here. Not anywhere.’

  ‘I’ll protect
you, scribe.’

  ‘I hope so. Because I need to see a few things. Down that way, into the pit. I need visions to make this complete. This is awful, Cassandra. Truly awful.’

  Inside the chamber, Kettifer and Orgascz were still talking but the conversation was clearly coming to an end. Grincheux wondered at the wisdom of going down into the pit. After all, the Vault of Deeds provided sanctuary, at least temporarily. But ahead lay what every scribe desired. The colour to embellish any deed. Any deed fair or foul as it turned out.

  ‘I will stand by you. If indeed this is betrayal, we must know its hideous depths.’

  ‘You really were top of your heroic utterance class weren’t you?’

  ‘I was top of everything, matey,’ said Cassandra. ‘Let’s go.’

  Kettifer waited until the pounding of Orgascz’s hooves and that of his own heart, had faded to calm. Relative calm anyway. Typical of the forces of evil to be impatient for dominion. They never learned. From rushing down hillsides in a chaotic mob waving weapons over their heads, to burning and ruining the lands they needed to live on, they just didn’t think things through. But try and tell them and what do you get?

  Kettifer rubbed his sore stomach ruefully. This ungracious haste would see the whole plan fall apart just as it was on the verge of becoming unstoppable. He needed to think. Needed to plan an emergency escape route. And there was only one place where he could enjoy peace and quiet without the risk of interruption by the demonic hordes currently sawing and hammering away in the pit.

  The Vault of Deeds.

  Walking quickly through the grand portal, Kettifer breathed a deep and calming sigh. Here, where Bloodchild could not follow him, nor indeed even see him, he heard the music of script all around him and felt the peace of history envelop him. All the better that he was on his own. Shame he had to ban all others from the Vault but his needs must.

  Kettifer walked into the centre of the first dome of the Vault, his hands tucked behind his back. So easy to imagine nothing was wrong when one gazed up at the glory within. The Vault was a grand series of linked domes. Here, in the first dome, books crowded every space. They lined every wall and rose high up the dome, accessed by stair and walkway. Each book sat on a carved marble plinth, and was made of heavy, spell-invested parchment and bound in golden dragon leather and cold-forged iron.