The Midnight Man (The Mancer Trilogy Book 2)

by Alan Scott

  “I will have them sent within the hour, my darling son.”

  “Good, and get someone to remove these corpses.”

  “Of course, darling. Come, Maria, we have things to prepare.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  The Midnight Man ignored the women as they left, He was too busy studying the map.

  Chapter Eight

  What’s in a Cane?

  All Hallows' Eve, just after midday

  Kimberley Weir quickly made her way through the empty streets, keeping her eyes peeled for the dreaded Brethren of the Night street patrols. Her destination was not far away now and, if her luck held, she should be there shortly.

  A small child’s high-pitched scream sounded out from a few streets away, along with the laughter of men and the barking of dogs. Kimberley shuddered at the sound. “Sorry, little one. I am truly sorry,” she whispered.

  The child screamed one last heart-wrenching cry full of pain and fear before the sound of growling dogs and the cruel laughter of men cut the sound stone dead.

  Kimberley stumbled as she ran. “Those bastards! Those heartless bastards!” Seeing the house, which was her goal, Kimberley wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and swiftly made her way round to the back of the abode.

  Quickly, she knocked the correct code on the door and waited. “Come on, come on!”

  The door opened a few inches. “Who is it?” a woman’s voice asked.

  “It’s me - Kimberley Weir.”

  “Kimberley?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, okay.” The door opened wider, allowing Kimberley entry.

  Kimberley turned to the other woman. “Are the rest here, Adele?”

  “Yes,” replied Adele Falegan. “Follow me.” Adele led Kimberley into the house’s main room in which sat two other women on one of the two sofas in the room.

  “Mandy, Lindsey,” acknowledged Kimberley as she entered the room and made her way to sit on the empty sofa, positioned under the only window in the room.

  “Kimberley,” both women replied.

  Adele moved to sit next to Kimberley, saying, “Now that we are all here…”

  A child’s crying interrupted the meeting.

  “That came from just outside the window,” said Mandy Tait.

  Kimberley turned towards the window.

  “No, don’t!” said Adele, grasping her wrist. “Don’t look, Kim.”

  “No, don’t. It won’t make any difference,” added Lindsey Hegan.

  Kimberley shook off Adele’s hand and looked out the window. “Oh, no!” she gasped. “No!” Kimberley put her hand across her mouth.

  “What is it? What is it?” asked Mandy.

  Adele reluctantly looked out the window. “It’s the Bradshaw’s girl - Lucy.” Adele quickly turned away and sat still on the sofa.

  “But she is only twenty-two months!” said Lindsey.

  Kimberley watched the small child crawl slowly along the street. Lucy’s cries were tearing her heart apart. Every instinct within her was urging her to rush out, grab hold of the child, and bring her to safety. But that would have been suicidal.

  At that moment, she heard the growl of the dogs and the laughter of the Brethren of the Night patrol. Four vicious-looking dogs, their teeth bared and straining at the leash, were kept in check by two burly men. Next to them stood two armed men and three women wearing monk’s robes. Behind them, drawn by two slaves, was a small cart upon which sat a cage with four gagged and bound small children.

  “Oh, god, no!” whispered Kimberley as unbidden tears started to flow down her face.

  “Kimberley Weir, come away from that window now!” demanded Mandy in hushed tones.

  “I can’t!”

  “Don’t torture yourself,” said Lindsey. “We cannot save her.”

  “Wait! Something is happening!” Kimberley noticed an old woman rush from her house, pick up the screaming child, and rush as fast as she could down the street. An old man wielding a fire poker stood defiantly between the running woman and the Brethren of the Night.

  “What is happening?” demanded Adele.

  “It’s the Baxendales,” replied Kimberley.

  “What? - the old couple from across the road?”

  “Yes, she has grabbed the child and is running, and he is standing between those bastards and his wife.”

  “Shite!” said Mandy.

  “They have released the dogs.” Kimberley slowly turned away from the window and sat down.

  “Shite!” repeated Mandy.

  Mercifully, old man Baxendale’s screams of agony were short-lived, as was his wife’s. Little Lucy Bradshaw had not cried once since being picked up by the old woman, nor did she cry when the dogs ripped her tiny body apart. This was due to old Mrs. Baxendale’s razor-sharp kitchen knife, which had humanely entered Lucy’s small heart the moment Mrs. Baxendale held her in her arms.

  The four women sat not saying a word until the growls, laughter, and screams had faded away, leaving only a cold and unpleasant silence.

  “This is why we must use the Grimoire Mort tonight and kill them all - each and every one of those sick twisted bastards!” declared Lindsey.

  “No! We must not use that book,” countered Kimberley. “Look what happened last time.”

  “Then your mother must call upon him.”

  “You know that he has not answered in years.” Kimberley held her head in her hands.

  “We know,” said Adele, placing a comforting hand on Kimberley’s knee.

  Kimberley could feel the others looking at her in sympathy. Her mother, Daniele Weir, had saved the town many years ago by calling upon the services of Solomon Pace. However, there had been a price to pay, and that was to dance with him once a year on All Hallows' Eve at midnight. She had willingly paid the price for many years; then one year, he had not turned up, nor the year after, nor the year after that.

  Kimberley had watched her mother slowly become but a fraction of the powerful woman she had once been. She had tried to invigorate her mother and get her involved in town life, but she would only smile sadly and say, “You would not understand. No man can dance like him. When you are in his arms... Oh, when you are in his arms, you feel that nothing can touch or harm you. Then you look into his eyes and… well… let’s just say, you know you are dancing with a real man.” Daniele laughed, lightly. “He does not hide his desire for you.”

  Kimberley returned her thoughts to the present. “Thank you, Adele.”

  “Kimberley, tonight the Brethren of the Night have said they will crucify, mutilate, and kill anyone who does not partake in their planned orgy.” Lindsey rubbed her forehead. “We cannot fight them. Almost all of our men are dead and we cannot take on the vampyres. We need help and soon. We must summon the dead to help us.”

  “No!” declared Kimberley again. “The Undead will destroy us. I was there at the beginning.”

  “What do you mean at the beginning?” queried Lindsey.

  “Nothing,” said Kimberley, defensively.

  “What are you holding back, Kimberley?” pushed Lindsey.

  “Nothing, okay? Nothing.”

  “Wine?” interrupted Adele. Lindsey shot her an evil look.

  “Wine, Lindsey?” asked Adele, innocently.

  “Please,” replied Lindsey with acid sweetness.

  “White or red?”

  “White.”

  “Okay.”

  Lindsey returned her attention to Kimberley. Kimberley looked at the floor, point-blank refusing to meet the other woman’s stare.

  Mandy watched her two friends and mouthed, “Shit!” whilst slowly shaking her head.

  “Here you go,” said Adele, moments later, as she brought four glasses of white wine and handed them out. Once all the women were served, Adele raised her glass. “To little Lucy and the Baxendale’s, who had more courage than most half their age.”

  “Lucy and the Baxendale’s!” the other three responded.

  “We m
ust be as strong as the Baxendale’s.” Lindsey cast her eyes over the other three women who were sipping their wine. “We must do what it takes to defend our town, no matter the cost. We must summon the dead to fight for us.”

  “Agreed,” said Mandy with a long sigh. “Sorry, Kim, but we have no other choice.”

  “Sorry, Kim,” said Adele. “Mandy is right; there is no other choice.”

  “Are you with us?” asked Lindsey. “Will you help us?”

  Kimberley felt the tears roll down her cheeks - felt her entire body shake with rage, fear, and helplessness. “Damn you all,” she whispered. Surging to her feet, she screamed, “Damn you all! You know nothing about cost or loss! I was there at the beginning when Samantha killed poor Belinda Wellbell and nearly destroyed our town. You have no idea what you are playing with and you have no idea of the cost of what I am about to do! DAMN YOU ALL!”

  Throwing down her wine glass, Kimberley tilted back her head and shouted, “Solomon Pace!”

  ***

  Somewhere in the depths of an endless dark cold void, her cry was heard.

  ***

  “SOLOMON PACE!”

  ***

  The entity started to move through the darkness, towards the voice.

  ***

  “SOLOMON PACE!” yelled Kimberley for the third and final time.

  ***

  The entity started to feel pain as it surged towards a light glowing in the distance.

  ***

  Five hundred miles east of White Tree

  It was a cold, cloudy, and dull afternoon. Chris Hardwick of the Night Guard surveyed the ruins in which his men had made camp. It had once been a small castle and had gone by the name of Castle Black. Chris snorted with contempt. There had been rumours about black arts, and it being the seat of a deadly and evil man. “He could not have been that dangerous, if he’s dead.” He spat on the ground.

  Looking up at the sky, Chris could see heavy rain clouds closing in fast. Already, there was a steady drizzle falling from the sky.

  “It’s All Hallows' Eve tonight,” said Karl Talon as he walked up to his commander.

  “The Night of the Dead,” replied Chris Hardwick.

  “Yup.” Karl looked round the darkening ruins. “Wish that some would turn up here. It’s boring.”

  Chris smiled a cold hard smile. “Another two days’ march and the slaughter will begin.”

  “Bored,” repeated Karl. “Here, ghosty-ghosty! Come and fight me!” Karl spread his arms wide and turned in a slow circle.

  “With what the Midnight Man has done...”

  “Praise be His glorious name!”

  “... even death fears us now, Karl,” finished Hardwick.

  ***

  Far beneath the men’s feet in the caverns under Castle Black, the long undisturbed dust trembled. Hidden behind a secret doorway was a medium-sized room, and in the exact centre of the pitch-black room lay a man-sized wooden box, which was beginning to vibrate.

  The creature inside twisted and turned within the tight constraints. Someone was calling its name. Someone was demanding its attention. Their call had cut through the silent black void in which it had slept. It had reawakened memories - memories of pain, memories of fear, memories of what it had once been... or not!

  Who had it been? What had it been? Had it even been? There! - the name was said for a third and final time, and the creature’s eyes opened as it screamed itself back into life.

  ***

  Hardwick looked at Talon. “Did you hear that?”

  “Yes!”

  “You may have gotten your wish.”

  “Good,” declared Talon, “for we are the Night Guard and we do not fear death.” Karl Talon lifted clear his axe from its bindings on his back. “Bring it on!”

  Hardwick cast his eyes to where the rest of his men were making camp. In the ever-growing darkness, the eighteen cold-hearted killers were grasping their weapons and making ready for battle. They, too, could feel the electricity in the air. They, too, could feel the anticipation. On the Night of the Dead, something was returning from beyond the veil. “At last, we will have some sport, men!” Hardwick cried out as he unsheathed his sword, “The Midnight Man does provide!”

  “The Midnight Man provides!” screamed back his men.

  ***

  The wooden box shattered as the creature freed itself from the weak prison that had sheltered it for many a long year. Images of its own violent death invaded its mind. “Noooooo!” it screamed as the graphic memories taunted it. “No, I shall not be that weak!” the creature decreed. Pushing itself, first onto its hands and knees, and then kneeling, it said, “I am not that weak!” A smile spread across the creature’s lips. “I was never that weak. I was only ever strong!” With that, the creature stood.

  “Light,” the creature said, and eight carefully positioned candles slowly flickered into life. Its eyes blurred with tears as they became accustomed to the low-level glow. After a few moments, though, their tolerance grew and the creature began to examine himself. “It worked!” he declared as he carefully checked his naked body. “It bloody well worked!” he laughed. “The protection spells cast on my cloned body stopped the ageing process and rot.”

  The man, for the light plainly showed him to be a man, cocked his head and listened. “Ah, someone is using my name again. Whom, I wonder? But first I have a few things which require my attention.” The man held his arms out as the deep shadows within the room began to dance and sway, as if to a hidden drumbeat, before moulding themselves to his body. Just as the last shadow was about to cover his face, they disappeared, leaving the man dressed in a smart suit.

  Once clad, he leaned over and picked up an exact replica of his favourite weapon, which was standing upright against the wall. “Perfect,” he said. He gave it a twirl before letting it lightly rest on his shoulder. “Now, I do believe that I have visitors to attend.”

  ***

  Chris Hardwick stared through the drizzle and into the darkness, trying to make out any movement. He and his men had been on high alert for almost an hour now and nothing had appeared.

  As the Night Guard peered through the rain and gloom, each of the powerful veteran warriors began to notice the silence, which had built up around them. It was a deep and unnatural silence, which unsettled the mind of the strongest man. Karl Talon felt the men near him becoming edgy, as they fought against the eerie quiet and searched for their foe. Gripping his axe tightly, Karl screamed a defiant war cry out into the gray and uncaring sky. “Come and die!” he bellowed out into the pitch-black.

  Hardwick spared a quick unreadable glance at his second-in-command, before resuming his vigil. Then, from out of the dark, the Night Guard heard a sound - a slow, steady, and confident sound...

  Tap-tap.

  “What is that?” someone said.

  “Sounds like a cane striking the cobbles,” replied the man next to him.

  “Where is it coming from?” hissed Karl as he turned his head from side to side.

  Tap-tap.

  “To our left!” one of his men replied.

  “No, to our centre,” countered another.

  Silence regained its dominance as the entire Night Guard strained its ears and eyes.

  “Where are you?” bellowed Karl as he took a few paces forward and out of the protection of the group.

  “Fool,” whispered Chris Hardwick with a sneer. Either ambition or fear had affected Karl’s judgement. Either way, he would soon pay the price of his weakness.

  ***

  From the castle ramparts, the man swung his cane up to rest lightly on his right shoulder. Looking out over the ramparts at the bleak land beyond, whilst the incessant rain continued to fall, he tapped the fingers of his free hand gently on the battlements and sighed, despondently. “I do hate the rain. I could never see what you saw in it, Nathaniel.”

  “COME AND DIE!” the coarse and vulgar challenge called out again from below.

  “Solomon Pa
ce! Solomon Pace! Solomon Pace!” - the words sounded in his mind. Someone was calling him with a great deal of urgency. There were not many on this planet who had the power to do that, and how many of them would know that, as of tonight, he still lived? “Intriguing,” Solomon muttered to himself.

  “COME AND DIE!” the words echoed across the courtyard.

  Shaking his head and with a bored sigh, Solomon raised his left hand and snapped his fingers.

  ***

  Karl Talon grunted as his left ankle snapped and he nearly fell on the floor. Next, his right wrist shattered and he dropped his axe. “Witchcraft!” he called out.

  “Where is the witch?” called out Chris Hardwick. “Where is the witch?”

  “There, my lord!” One of his men was pointing up to the broken ramparts of the once proud castle. Chris looked to where the Night Guard was pointing and saw a man silhouetted against the night sky. He looked like he had a cane resting over his right shoulder. “Coward!” bellowed out Hardwick.

  “No, just busy.” The man’s voice was barely above a shout, but each and every Night Guard heard him clearly.

  Karl Talon was on his knees, but laughed out loud. “Thank you for this gift of pain! When I finally get my hands on you, I shall reward you handsomely!” Planting the haft of his axe firmly on the ground, he started to push himself upright.