Rick tossed a cup of water onto the heating plates. “I guess you’ll have to pick.”
Arturus watched the steam rise to the ceiling. “You mean I get to decide?”
“You’d better. I don’t know who else would. Sounds more fun than having someone else choose it, doesn’t it?”
“But what if I pick the wrong one?”
Rick shrugged and went on humming.
“I think I’m going to make Harpsborough happy,” Arturus said.
“Oh, are you?”
“Yes. Or maybe I’ll rescue Alice from a devil!”
“I’m sure Alice will be glad to hear about that.”
“Did Galen come in last night?” Arturus asked.
Rick stopped humming and moved in front of the hound liver. Frown lines appeared on his forehead as he picked up a knife, and he started cutting with quick jerky motions.
“No,” Rick said between cuts. “He didn’t come in last night.”
Arturus watched his father carefully. “He’s late, isn’t he?”
Rick looked towards a pile of devilwheat in one corner. Had Galen been home, it certainly would have been threshed and stored by now.
“Yes, Turi, he’s late.”
“What if he doesn’t come back?”
Rick stopped cutting. “Then he doesn’t come back.”
“But then, how are we supposed to—”
“Don’t talk about things like that. Whatever happens, we’ll manage.”
“Sorry,” Arturus said.
“But if he’s not back soon, I’ll have to go hunting without him.” Rick began cutting again. “That’s a shame because we’re low on shells, and I was hoping to get another barrel for one of our rifles in Harpsborough. I’ll have to work hard today to get it all done.”
Arturus nodded, but then he had an idea. If he were to go to Harpsborough, Rick wouldn’t have so much to do today.
And I’d get to see Alice.
Arturus had never gotten permission to go to the city alone before, so he figured he had better start being as helpful as possible. Rick, unlike the more even mannered Galen, was much more likely to be lenient when he was in a good mood—and he certainly wasn’t in a good mood now.
“Did you want any water?” Arturus offered.
“Yeah, and could you fill the pitcher too? We’ll need it for the food.”
Arturus grumbled to himself and picked up the huge clay urn they used to store drinking water.
He hadn’t meant to be quite that helpful.
He dragged his feet in the gravel as he lugged the empty urn towards the Mighty Thames.
How am I going to ask this?
Arturus stopped downstream from the waterwheel where he filled the giant clay pitcher. He squatted low, and with a heave and a grunt, brought the thing back up on the bank. He figured he was just being paranoid, but he checked the urn to see if any of his shaved hairs were in there.
They weren’t.
Maybe if I can get him to complain about hunting more.
He heard a noise across the river and looked up, hoping to see Galen. . . but no one was there.
The sound had come from Rick separating the battery from the heating stones. The waterwheel spun slower now since its power was being diverted towards charging the battery—or raising the rock, as Julian would have called it.
He returned to the room, the urn sloshing in his arms, still unsure as to how he was going to broach the Harpsborough trip. If he wasn’t careful, Rick might reject the idea outright.
“Water’s cool today,” he mentioned as he set down the clay pitcher.
Rick dropped the strips of hound liver onto the heating plates and gave them a toss of the water Arturus had just brought. Steam and the smell of food cooking filled the room.
Arturus’ mouth watered.
“The water’s cool every day,” Rick told him, beginning to hum again.
Arturus nodded.
He watched the hound liver as it sizzled. He was glad Rick had turned off the hotplates before cooking the meal. If the heat dissipated fast enough, Rick wouldn’t have a chance to burn the bread. Galen said Rick enjoyed burning the bread.
“Not many dyitzu about.” Arturus tried hard to make his calculated remark sound like an offhand comment.
Rick paused before answering, busying himself by flipping the hound liver.
Does he know I’m trying to wheedle him into something?
Rick tossed more water onto the meal. “No, it might be difficult finding one to hunt.”
Arturus watched the fresh steam dissipate into the air. There would always be water on the ceiling over the plates after meal times. Rick left the plates for a second and poked his head through the curtain which cordoned off their supply closet.
“Do you think I could go hunting with you?” Arturus asked.
“You know that you’re only supposed to go with Galen,” Rick called back over his shoulder. “I’ve got too many bad habits for you to pick up.”
Arturus studied Rick for a moment as the man returned to the heating plates.
“Then let me go to Harpsborough!” he blurted out.
Rick looked up from his cooking. Arturus saw that he hadn’t immediately rejected the idea.
“I know I’ve never been there by myself before,” Arturus said quickly, “but you said that the dyitzu have been light. And I know how to handle myself just in case. Galen and I got in that firefight last month, you remember? Besides, I’ve got to start going there sometime.”
Rick shook his head. “It’s too dangerous. You might get lost.”
“I go there all the time, I know the way.”
“There are dyitzu about. You could get attacked. Galen would kill me if he got home and found you hurt. Besides, you know you aren’t allowed to travel that far on your own.”
“I travel almost that far when I go to the Hungerleaf Grove. I do that all the time.”
Rick’s eyebrows narrowed. “Let me think about it.”
“But—”
“Quiet, Turi. I said I’d think about it.” He tested the liver with one of his knives, cutting into the center of it. “Get your plate.”
Arturus walked over to the supply closet and picked out his favorite hellstone plate. It had a chip on one of its square edges from where he had dropped it years ago. The grain of the plate’s rock swirled towards the center, making a dark spot which Arturus pretended was a girl sitting by a river. He offered it up to Rick, who delivered to him his portion of hound liver and flatbread.
Arturus’ heart sank. Rick had managed to burn the bread. Arturus stayed quiet, not wanting to anger his father while he was in the middle of making such an important decision. He sat back down and waited.
Rick was frowning as he made his way to the table, deep in thought. Arturus watched him intently.
“Don’t stare, Turi,” Rick said as he took his seat.
Arturus looked at the hound liver. It was covering up the girl on the river. He wrapped it in the flatbread and started to eat it with his fingers. The liver was hot enough to burn his tongue a little.
He dared another glance at Rick.
“Can’t let you go,” his father said. “How would you make the trades?”
“I’ve watched Galen trade hundreds of times! I know who to speak to and how much to offer.”
Rick took a bite of the flatbread and chewed it thoroughly. “They’ll try and cheat you. They might think you are an easier mark than Galen.”
“I’ll be smart. Besides, I won’t take much if you don’t want me to.”
“You wouldn’t even know who to go to.”
“Massan has shells, he always does, and he won’t try and cheat me,” Arturus insisted. “I can always trade at the Fore if he doesn’t.”
Rick sighed, putting down his flatbread. “There’s a lot of trouble you can get into at the village. I don’t know if I feel safe with you alone in Harpsborough.”
“I’ll just do the trades, I swear. Then
I’ll come right back. Besides, if I get in any trouble, I’ll go to a Citizen. They all know me.”
“You could get lost on the way.”
“I won’t! I know how to get there. I can just head towards the Kingsriver until I get to the road.”
Rick smiled and shook his head. “Perhaps you’re right, Turi. I do need help today, and I suppose it’s about time that you get some experience being out there on your own.”
“Really?”
Rick laughed and nodded.
Arturus felt like hugging him. “Thank you! I’ll do the trades right, I promise.”
“Go get your bag. I’ll help you pack. The barrel we need is for an AR-15, so you want to keep that part as private as possible. I don’t need rumors of us using 5.56 spreading around Harpsborough.”
“I’ll be careful,” Arturus said, his heart beating with excitement.
“And make sure you get a good deal, understand, or when Galen finds out he won’t let you go to Harpsborough on your own again until you’re old and sodden.”
“But you said I can’t get old!”
“Exactly the point, my boy, exactly the point.”
Arturus hurried back to his room to gather his things.
“Stay alert,” Rick told him as he left. “Don’t forget to check the shadows twice before you enter every room.”
“I will.”
“I’m serious, Turi, we don’t need a dyitzu getting a hold of you. And don’t get lost. If you do, just find a river and wait for a hunter.”
“I’ll be careful!” Arturus said.
Rick gave him a serious look. “Keep your eyes peeled, and remember to announce yourself to the guards. People sometimes shoot first and look second.”
“Of course I will.”
“And don’t spend too much time with that Alice girl. She’s trouble for you—well, go on. And be careful!”
“I will,” Arturus said as he crossed over the river’s bridge, his feet thumping over the woodstone structure.
He stopped on the far side and turned around, suddenly unsure of himself. Rick had also paused. His father smiled sadly, waved goodbye, and then walked back into their home chambers.
I can do this.
Arturus steeled himself with a deep breath and left the red river room.
He’s so paranoid sometimes.
Arturus began his journey, moving slowly and carefully through the labyrinth.
The next few sets of chambers were fashioned out of blue stone. Their ceilings, supported by a varied array of arches and pillars, soared above him. The light came from the floor of these rooms so that the walls darkened as they rose. The floor itself was an almost neon color, and it gave his clothing a cooler cast. He watched his own shadow march across the ceiling.
I better look where I’m going.
Dyitzu had been scarce, but that didn’t mean he had to go out of his way to make sure he’d get eaten by one. As he traveled through the labyrinth, he imagined one of those devils—black eyed, hunched over, long clawed—finding him while he was staring at his own shadow. It would rip him apart. Then he would be dead, his soul descending to a level of Hell even worse than the one he was on now, and Rick would be alone. For some reason leaving Rick abandoned scared him even more than his own death.
Just head towards the Kingsriver, you’ll see the rustrock road.
He froze.
He’d heard the scuff of a shoe. It had sounded like it was coming from one of the dark corridors which led into this chamber. He moved to one corner of the room and crouched, peering intently into the blackness. Gingerly, as quietly as he could, he drew his pistol, shifting slightly as he did so.
He heard the sound again.
Wait, is that my own foot?
He jiggled his boot a little.
I’m an idiot.
He holstered his pistol and stood back up, feeling slightly relieved.
Have I been here before?
The stones of this room were frighteningly unfamiliar. Should he backtrack to another room that he knew? He had never seen a pillar like this before. Or had he? It was straight until its midpoint, where it began to lean off to one side until it melded into one of the walls.
But he had been through this chamber before, perhaps a thousand times. He remembered playing with Galen by that pillar as a child.
My mind is playing tricks on me. It’s because I’m afraid.
If Rick had known how badly this trip was going to go, he probably would have forbid it. Arturus allowed his breathing to slow. It did not take long for his fear to play itself out, and when it was gone, he felt he was one step closer to the person that Galen had trained him to be.
He knew the way, so he pressed on towards the Kingsriver.
The rooms became smaller, and the stone dulled from the soft blues to a red which reminded Arturus of dried blood. Light ceased to come from the floor and took on its normal ethereal and sourceless quality.
After a few more minutes, he came to the road.
Halfway there!
The road was a series of rivets cut into the stone. Another type of rock, which Galen called rustrock, had been laid inside the grooves. It was a brown stone, almost black in color.
Arturus began to follow the road.
Galen had told him that if you spent the time to pry out the rustrock, then the rivet would heal in a few decades. Arturus didn’t like to think of stone healing. He had argued about this with Galen. Galen had taken him to a wall in his own chamber and made a chip in it with a few chisel strikes.
“Tell me boy, in three years’ time, that I have lied to you.”
Galen hadn’t been lying.
Arturus adjusted the pack on his shoulders. It was almost completely full. He wished that Rick hadn’t given him so much latitude in the trading, both because it was heavy and also because it gave him plenty of excess to be cheated with.
They don’t have to know how much you have.
The riveted road forked, and a large violet stone, about two feet tall, was lying along one of the paths. Arturus thought that it might just be his imagination, but the air from that path felt cooler. Perhaps there was a river down that way. Violet stones such as this one had been placed by Rick, he knew, to warn travelers on the road not to take this fork. Paths marked by such stones led to the Carrion. Arturus knew better than to go near there. The place was thick with devils, and any man who survived in such a Hell was not likely to be friendly. Rick and the people of Harpsborough had spent many years barricading most of the main pathways that led to the Carrion, but Galen had warned him that there were still many more open.
“You cannot block out a whole region,” Galen had told him. “Always there will be a hidden passage, perhaps a corridor or door which you missed. The enemy might go high or low or left or right, but they will find a way.”
Arturus hurried past the fork, taking extra care to make sure that his footsteps were silent.
He felt much safer after he put a couple of turns and stone walls between himself and the Carrion path. In fact, the farther he traveled down the road, the more comfortable he felt altogether. It was secretly thrilling to be traveling the wilds of the labyrinth on his own. He imagined that this must be how Galen felt on his many long hunts.
His sweat was making his clothes stick to his body and his own movement through the air gave him a ghost of a chill, even in the temperate labyrinthine air. He stopped when he realized that the village’s guards would be in the next chamber.
I made it!
He remembered that he needed to hail them before he entered. Arturus didn’t think that they’d fire at him, but Rick had been pretty worried about it.
“It’s Arturus, don’t shoot,” he said, his voice sounding high even to his own ears.
He rounded the bend and saw two Harpsborough guards leaning back against the stone wall that stood by the village chamber’s entrance. Set against the wall beside them were two model 700 Remington rifles, which Arturus knew was the wea
pon used by most of the Harpsborough hunters. One of the two wore a hoodie, and the other had his arms folded.
“Well, look who just came out of the wilds beaming like a flashlight,” the guard in the hoodie said.
“You broke your leash, boy?” asked the other. “Where’s Rick and Galen?”
“I came by myself,” he said proudly.
He had meant to say it in an offhand manner.
“Aren’t you the adventurous one?” one guard laughed.
“Leave the boy alone, Avery. The wilds are dangerous.”
“I wasn’t scared,” Arturus said.
“Then maybe you should have been.”
Arturus felt childish and glum. He had meant to ask them about which traders were in, but he ducked his head instead and walked past the guards.
Why do they have to be like that?
Arturus pushed through into Harpsborough. He forgot his embarrassment almost immediately. Though he had been to Harpsborough many times, the fact that he was here alone gave the village a sense of freshness. The ceiling, vast, and made of the same arched and bricked pattern as the one over the Mighty Thames, hung nearly a hundred feet over his head. Most of the buildings were squat, barely five feet tall, and made of a mixture of stone and blankets. Life was as permanent here as could be found almost anywhere in the labyrinth, so many of Harpsborough’s denizens had taken the time to add colored blankets, beads, or some other touch to personalize their homes.
There were two proper buildings which dwarfed the rest. One was the church, whose twin, crucifix-topped steeples were nearly high enough to touch the bricked ceiling, and the other was the Fore.
The Fore was the supreme building of Harpsborough—a tremendous four story structure with its first few levels almost entirely intact. Only the fourth floor had devolved into the hodge-podge stone and blanketed mess which characterized the rest of the village’s architecture. Harpsborough’s most powerful people, called Citizens, lived in that building. Arturus longed to stand on one of its third story balconies and look down upon the town. To be a Citizen, to not have to hunt or work. . . it would be a dream. Then he could invite Alice to come dine with him, and they would eat as the Citizens did on those balconies. They would speak of petty things, like which vines grew the sweetest sinfruit, and which stones were the best for sculpting.
Even Hell Has Knights (Hellsong) Page 2
