by Kit Hallows
“What for?”
“How would I know? I’m not privy to the inner workings of the Silver Spiral. However, the man I mentioned might have the answer to your puzzle. Or at least a list of the spice’s ingredients. You should go and see him.”
“Who is he?”
“Giles De Quincey, my ideas man. A talented, but troubled mind. Giles is as sharp as a nail and as mad as a drunken crow on a hot stove. He’s also the vintner responsible for some of my most successful blends. A scientist of sorts. A genius even.”
“Where can I find him?”
“Now, that’s the interesting part. You see, Giles registers quite high on the spectrum of out and out paranoia, hence constructing a secret laboratory in the tunnels below the city. His obsession with privacy worked in our favor, or at least until recently. Can you believe this; he’s been trapped in a bunker of his own making. And I need you to liberate him.”
“It seems you need a lot from me.”
“I do indeed, but I just know it’ll all work out in your favor, otherwise I would never have inconvenienced you.”
I didn’t really give a rat’s ass about Screed’s scams and shady operations, I just wanted to get my hands on Wyght. Not that his blatant disregard for the law or the way he'd played me made any of it palatable. “So how’d this De Quincey get trapped?”
“There’s a gang of… creatures who have recently taken to the tunnels Giles resides in and they’ve been robbing our boats. So now I can't send payments and he can't ship my wine. Which means my supply is drying up and if there’s one thing I cannot abide in this world it’s scarcity.”
“What kind of creatures are we talking about?”
“A strange hybrid. Part man, part rat. Horrible things!”
“Are you serious?”
“Perfectly. I sent Crispig out to exterminate them, but they got the better of him. They’re cunning you see and he’s… well he’s not. He took out a few, but not nearly enough. So we regrouped, and I thought the situation over and decided that you and Crispig should team up. Clear out the wererat fiends. After that you can grill De Quincey and find out what he knows. And while you’re at it, deliver a little payment for me.”
“You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?”
“Indeed. Thinking is about all I can do since I’ve been stuck on this gloomy old boat. So, will you assist? I imagine there could be a nice fat bonus in it for you.”
“You’re bribing me now?”
Argyle Screed topped my glass up. “Never! I mean, not if you don’t want me to.”
“No, I really don’t.”
“Well that’s understandable, boy scout that you are. So let the unmasking of Wyght’s evil little drug be your reward. Personally I’d prefer cold hard cash.” His waspish humor faded as he added, “I know you lost someone special to that witch. You’re not alone in that. I have friends who have suffered at the Spiral’s bloody hands too, so eradicating them is a goal we both share.”
I hated being played, but I was sure his leads would be as solid as a rock. Plus the clock was ticking. “I’ll do it but never speak of this to anyone. Got it?”
“Indeed.” Screed set his glass down, stooped behind a sofa, and held out a leather messenger bag. “I trust your hands are more stable than Crispig’s.”
“What’s this?” A heady perfume filled the air as I opened it up to find stacks of plastic bags filled with herbs, berries, pastel-colored powders and what looked like a vial of ladybug heads.
“Ingredients. Please ensure Giles receives them intact.”
“So now I’m smuggling, along with everything else you’ve just conned me into?”
“You could put it that way if you so desired. But it serves us both, Mr. Rook. Remember that. Now, may I suggest that you get on your way before night falls?”
I glanced to the window. The murk outside was growing darker. “This better lead me to Wyght, Screed. Or I’ll come back and sink this boat myself.”
“Now, now, Mr. Rook. There’s no need for incivility.”
Screed reached under the shawl that he’d thrown over the table and pulled out a large sheathed scimitar. I shook my head and showed him the sword below my coat.
“My, what a big sword you have! But as it happens, this one’s for our beardless friend.”
“He's not going to be a problem is he?” I nodded to Crispig. I had no idea what I’d be facing in the sewers, but having a giant thug on my side seemed like a wise precaution. Providing he could let past resentments go.
“He'll do as he's told. Crispig, please go with the nice man. And try not to strangle him.” Screed held out the scimitar. Crispig seized it, gave me another hostile glare, and clumped across the floorboards to stand beside me. “Oh, and one last thing,” Screed strode toward Crispig and leaned in close as he whispered what sounded very much like Prometheus Wingdings. I couldn't muster the will to ask what it meant.
We left the cabin and made our way across the deck to the small skiff suspended over the side. I climbed in and grabbed the rails as Crispig joined me, sending the whole thing shaking.
“Anchors away.” Screed nodded, and gave a small lever an effete shove. The boat fell through the air and plunged into the water. I braced myself against the icy cold splash that exploded around us. “Be still,” Crispig said as he stood and yanked the starter. The outboard motor rumbled to life and the cord snapped back as a cloud of dry blue smoke streamed out into the air.
Then off we went, sputtering and growling into the thick grey shroud of fog.
16
As we cruised through the fog the engine chugged and sputtered, the lapping tide rocked the boat and Crispig loomed over me as he manned the helm. He stared ahead mostly, but now and then I caught him looking down at me with a dark notion in his eyes as he reached up to stroke a beard that was no longer there.
Finally, the blurred silhouette of the wharf materialized, and in the lamp light below it, the dark murky circle that marked the entrance to the labyrinth of tunnels below the city. The last time I’d been here, a decade or so ago, a large iron grate had covered the opening, but it seemed it had long since been removed.
Crispig muttered an incantation as we cruised inside and one by one a long row of standing wooden torches burst to life with a roar and crackle of flames. The deep red and orange firelight illuminated a walkway that ran alongside the watery channel as it snaked into the gloom.
The dank swamp-like stench was worse than I’d anticipated but Crispig appeared oblivious. I pulled a scarf from my bag, wrapped it around my nose and mouth, took shallow breaths and grasped the rough splintered sides of the boat in an attempt to distract myself as the craft sputtered on, taking us further into the dank tunnel. A second passage appeared, forking off to our left and the bow lurched toward it as Crispig jerked the tiller. We sailed along in a bitter blue cloud of fumes and the din of the engine echoed around us, boldly announcing our approach to anything with ears.
Torches continued to light the way as we advanced and when I glanced back, I saw they were extinguishing themselves soon after our passing. Shadows danced over the arched ceiling and black shapes, that I hoped were nothing more than bats, scurried across the brickwork, seeking the comfort of darkness.
As we passed an intersecting tunnel, I heard whispers. I tried to gauge what they were and if Crispig had heard them too, but he showed no sign.
I’d actually been through these tunnels once before, on a mercifully brief assignment. Since then, as a rule, I’d done my best to keep away from the place. It evoked a bone-chilling eeriness in me. One that was beyond that of any catacomb I’d ever ventured into and my senses pulsed with an innate awareness of the hidden and sinister things that lurked within every crack and crevice. Things I was happy to distance myself from, at least until my duties demanded otherwise. And as we traveled deeper and deeper in the little wooden boat, I felt increasingly vulnerable.
Like a sitting duck.
I glanced
up as a swarm of tiny pearlescent beetles scuttled across the wall, the clack and clatter of their limbs audible even over the splutter of the engine. “What’s…” my words tailed off as I spotted the glimmer of eyes watching from a shadowed recess. Moments later a horribly shrill, piercing whistle echoed off the walls.
“Spy!” Crispig growled. “Kill it!”
I jumped to my feet and the boat rocked madly, dampening my momentum as I leaped and grasped the edge of the walkway above. The rough brick bit into my fingers as I pulled myself up, grabbed a torch and raced toward the whistling din.
A creature skulked in an alcove. A humanoid figure wreathed in shadows. Its body was that of a slight, sinewy man but its face was hairy, pointed and utterly rat-like. It wore thick ragged leather armor over its chest and legs but its long, pink, creepy rat feet were bare. A paw-like hand shot up from its side then it thrust two claws into its mouth and whistled again.
“Shut up.” I pulled my gun and aimed it at the creature’s head. “Now!”
His whiskers twitched and his beady black eyes gleamed as they glared into mine. He pulled his claws from his mouth and gave me a wrinkled grin as he stepped back into the recess and vanished from sight.
I was about to go after him when a loud juddering sound echoed through the tunnel behind me and moments later the stench of fresh waste filled my nostrils.
What the hell?
Bright green light flickered along the walls of a side passage amid the shadow of a great black shape and the dancing silhouettes of figures leapt across the roof of the tunnel.
Crispig shouted. He was far ahead. “Hurry!” he called as he waved to me.
I ran as the torches blew out in the skiff’s wake and a sprawling green eldritch glow swept up behind me. I glanced back to see a tall wooden ship with dung colored slats and a single black sail charge into the tunnel. The fiery emerald glare seemed to emanate from the huge glass tank at the rear of the vessel. Inside, a swirl of brown and luminous green liquid churned as two ratmen stood on either side of the tank, slopping buckets of gushing muck into the mix. Above them, a thick cloud of flies pulsed and surged, their drone almost as great as the ship’s cluttering engine.
I watched the crew of ratmen scurry back and forth across the deck, lugging buckets of sludge. Others stood motionless at their posts, with a cutlass at their side, their beady black eyes staring back at me. A menacing squad formed behind the rat-faced helmsman at the huge wooden wheel. He was taller than the others and wore a dirty red tricorne hat and a flowing mud-brown coat. His gaunt face teemed with scars and fizzled with hatred. He shouted words that were swallowed up by the din of the vessel and his four long white incisors were visible even from where I stood.
I spun round, sensing movement behind me. The rat spy leaped from his alcove, gleaming knife in hand. I ducked, seized his furry wrist, and used his momentum to throw him into the channel below.
A voice echoed over the tumult and I glanced ahead to find Crispig frantically motioning for me to join him.
I ran. Hard.
Crispig clutched the tiller, his face agitated as he navigated the boat up the river, the garish green glow of the rat ship slowly gaining on him. I leaped from the walkway and landed beside him, grabbing the rails as the boat rocked around me. “Can you make this thing go any faster?” I shouted over the tumult.
“No.” Crispig said. “Have to fight.” He pulled his scimitar from his belt and glanced back.
The rat ship was almost upon us. The churn and rattle of its engine merged with the drone of flies and the stench of its vile fuel caused my eyes to water. I glanced up, meeting the captain’s stare. He called out in a high, ragged voice and raised a clawed hand.
Two ratmen ran along the decks and leaped out. They sailed through the air toward us, the swords over their heads gleaming green as they reflected the light from their craft.
“Block!” I called as I drew the sword of intention. It deflected the blade of the first rat as he hurtled toward me, but the weight of his attack still sent me tumbling to the floor.
I jumped to my feet as Crispig lunged at the other rat. It caught the force of his blow paired with its own momentum and its face jerked back with a loud crack and a spray of blood. Crispig kicked the corpse into the water and shouted as the other rat attacked. I parried its swing and struggled to my feet as it threw its blade into its other hand and stabbed at my chest.
Jagged metal struck my coat and tiny blue sparks tumbled into the murk.
Our gazes locked, its soulless beady black eyes fixed to mine as it rushed me again.
“Kill!” I ducked back, brought my sword up and plunged it through the rat’s chest. It spasmed and squealed, the sound high and terrible. Soon the fire in its eyes winked out and its twitching corpse fell into the churning water with a splash.
A long shadow fell over me and I glanced up as the squad of ratmen pushed out a gangplank.
“Go faster!” I called to Crispig as they secured it to their deck with pegs and a knotted length of rope.
“Can’t!” He growled, and spat in frustration.
My breath caught in my throat as three more of the mutants ran along the plank and leaped down upon us.
17
I impaled the first of the ratmen with my sword, but the momentum of its attack took me down along with its flailing body. The silver arc of Crispig’s scimitar swept overhead, and a headless ratman fell shuddering beside me.
The third leaned over and shoved the corpse off me. Its incisors snapped at my face and sank into the side of my throat. I tried to shove it back, but it had me pinned. Then two great hands yanked it into the air and Crispig head butted the screeching creature and hurled it overboard.
I scrambled to my feet and pitched forward as the rat ship struck the back of our tiny boat, smashing the outboard engine from its mooring. It fell sputtering into the water.
Crispig roared with fury, seized an oar, and tried to shove the ship back.
It worked. A little.
I grabbed two crystals from my pocket, soaked up their power and called to my dark other. “Burn it!”
Let me in and I will, he whispered. I moved aside to let him step in and a heavy drone of dark magic swirled through my veins. Within moments two balls of writhing black fire roared in the palms of my hands. The flames were as cold as ice, yet as ravenous as any conflagration.
I threw them. One struck the gangplank, its force sent the ratman astride it tumbling into the river. The second burst across the bow of the ship, engulfing it in black flames.
My other began to chant secret, forbidden words. I couldn’t understand their meaning but I knew his intent; wholesale destruction with anyone or thing within its path written off as collateral damage. I shoved him aside and wrestled back control of my mind. The magic, combined with the crystals I’d consumed, continued to surge through me. I made myself invisible and prayed the magic would last long enough as I leaped from the skiff onto the walkway.
Five ratmen scurried over the burning deck as the captain steadfastly manned the helm. A pair of them wheeled a canon from the bow of the vessel toward the gangplank while the black flames raged all around them.
I pulled my gun and shot one of the mutants through the head. It fell in a bloody heap and the other glanced round wildly, unable to see past my cloaking spell. He thrust his nose in the air, trying to catch my scent. I fired again, taking him out.
A second pair of ratmen emerged from the hold, leaped over the corpses and grabbed hold of the canon. As they rolled it toward the gangplank, a trapdoor flew open and dozens of their crew mates poured out, their eyes gleaming and noses twitching as they sniffed the air.
Too many rats, not enough ammo.
The glare of the garish green light from the tank caught my eye. The glowing contents seemed to be some kind of swirling gas. I hoped it was flammable. I took aim and gently squeezed the trigger. The round struck it dead on and long white cracks appeared in the glass.
&nbs
p; Let me have control.
With reluctance I let my other emerge and together we took aim. His power flowed through my fingers as I fired again.
The second bullet struck the glass right where the first had marred it.
Move back.
I allowed my consciousness to withdraw and observed from the background as my other took the control he needed. My finger curled around the trigger once more. The final shot glowed bright and yellow as it passed through the hole, setting off a fiery, roiling cloud of gas.
“It’s going to blow!” I called to Crispig as I sprinted to the skiff.
He glanced my way, but seemed unable to see me. I leaped through the air, landing hard on the boat as I uncloaked myself. “Row!” I called, as I dropped to the bottom of the boat and slipped a second pair of oars into the rowlocks. I gave a long hard pull, Crispig followed suit and together we rowed.
Cold rancid water surged over the rails. I ignored its vile stench as I put everything I had into rowing. We began to pull away from the ship as a plume of green light spread from the stern, lighting up the roof above it.
The rat captain stared down at me, his eyes filled with cold fury as he clung to the helm. He glanced back and shouted in a strange tongue, his clipped words harsh and alien. And then he gave me a final sneer, before diving overboard.
“Shit!” Crispig cried and began to row even harder.
I grabbed the remaining crystals in my pocket and used their power to throw a temporary shield around us. My knowledge of defensive magic was scant, but the surrounding air began to glimmer with tiny telltale motes of light.
A distant, muffled roar tore through the tunnel as the rat ship exploded into vivid green flames. The flies buzzing in the air around it twinkled like embers and a wave of burning wood, muck and debris struck the shield I’d cast around us.
I glanced up, following the course of the erupting green gasses which roared toward a manhole in the tunnel’s ceiling. “So much for keeping a low profile.” I grabbed the sides of the boat as it rocked wildly and the last of the wreckage tumbled down.
