“Besides, I daresay we will bring swifter demise to the threat with a rallied squad designated to the purpose,” Godren added for good measure. “And when else am I going to get the chance to experience a relationship with allies? I live by ‘one man for himself’ out there when I’m on my own.”
“Fair enough. I just never wanted to go to the trouble of organizing a squad. But if you’re covering it, feel free. I’ll send Ossen to you.”
Godren bit his tongue before he could object. “What, exactly, is Ossen’s service to you, my lady?” he hazarded, curious about the other man’s position in these matters.
Mastodon smiled. “He’s been doing small favors for me for years. He has certain…connections which first interested me, which, ironically, are exactly what I’m using to blackmail him into pledging undying loyalty to my causes.”
“I see,” Godren said, though really he dug through the hazy information she volunteered trying in vain to divine exactly what she meant. He would not dig further verbally, in fear of straining the precarious relationship he had managed to secure through this arrangement – and also, it was best he kept his personal interests as far out of Mastodon’s reach as he could, so she would never have anything more to manipulate him with.
“I like easy employees,” Mastodon elaborated. “I don’t have to pay him a penny and I don’t have to threaten to kill him. Really, that is unpleasant business, and I’m all for avoiding it when it’s convenient.”
Godren nodded, determined not to pry. “So long as it’s affective,” he agreed without undue interest, rising. “I suppose I’ll be expecting him, then.”
“When he does show, consult Bastin for weapons.”
“Weapons?” Godren inquired.
“I’ve been developing something special. It should give you an edge,” Mastodon said mysteriously, not committing to anything.
“Of course,” Godren said, and took his leave a little reluctantly, his interest now thoroughly piqued. The mention of Ossen’s position, and then the idea of a special weapon to be entrusted for his use…he had to admit he was not completely immune to the intrigue of Mastodon and her business. He loathed Ossen, and rather liked the idea that his rival in crime was being blackmailed. If only he could learn more. What other humiliating secrets did Ossen have, eating at him underneath his pretty-smelling perfume? And as far as secret weapons went, well – they just had an attractive ring to them.
He had also decided that he was looking forward to having Ossen report to him. Though there were bound to be unpleasantries attached, his appointed superiority had its bright side as well. The small part of him that was not dreading their upcoming association was decidedly smug and satisfied. He only wondered what Sethos would think.
*
Sethos flashed a mirthless, wolfish grin. “Hey, pretty boy,” he greeted Ossen bitingly through his charmingly bared teeth. It was the next morning, though time ran together into one long night down here, and Godren had not yet had a good chance to take Seth away from the spying ghosts to explain Mastodon’s expectations. He had procrastinated over when to do so, but had decided it would look suspicious to go out again last night. He had decided to leave his friend ignorant for the night, figuring he might as well have the good night’s rest he came for.
Entering the dark courtyard, Ossen stopped at a tolerable distance.
“Still smelling like a girl?” Sethos inquired
“Still smelling like dung?” Ossen retorted. “I daresay, if a man’s scent is any indication of where he’s been, I’ve been granted the superior circumstances.” Sparing Sethos his own conceited smile, Ossen disregarded him and turned to Godren. “So, Godren. I hear you’re being fooled into thinking you’re something special these days. Are you going to be a fool and believe it?”
“I’m just playing along,” Godren replied emotionlessly, refusing to be goaded.
“Of course. ‘Playing along’,” Ossen drawled sweetly. “Isn’t that something children do?”
“Of course. Along with sending inferior criminals on whatever spiteful errands they find desirable.”
Ossen’s complacent smile shrank.
“We’re not children, either of us,” Godren said. “When you stop acting like one, perhaps I will consider stooping to confront you, and we can finish our remaining differences once and for all.”
“That will be the day,” Ossen anticipated keenly. “To finally see you stoop and bring your head out of the clouds.”
“Won’t it be joyous,” Godren concurred emotionlessly. “What will you do to celebrate?”
“Kill you, of course,” Sethos piped up. “What else? Unless you want to celebrate the return of your sense and kill him first.”
“You all had better start taking this killing business seriously,” a new voice advised, the speaker appearing at the edge of the courtyard. The three young men stopped their bickering and focused on the newcomer. “This job is to be committed to, executed, and finished. Clean and swift. And there should be no debating who is killing who.” Seriously, Bastin glanced between them all, seeing that he had won their solemn attention. “You hunt according to convenient target, unless there is an obvious match that should be honored. Kill each other on your own time.” He turned away as quickly as he’d arrived. “Come with me.”
Glancing once amongst themselves, the three followed Bastin out of Godren’s adopted sector of the Underworld. Bastin led them back toward the more lavish wing of the underground kingdom, but didn’t steer them near Mastodon’s personal quarters. They came to a closet-like chamber, which Bastin unlocked and threw open, and they crowded in and gathered around as Bastin thrust a second key into the brass mechanism of a large trunk in the corner. Kicking open the lid, he revealed the contents and stepped back to let the three look. They all stood there, peering in, eyes roving in wonder over the alien contraptions.
As soon as they’d had a good look, Bastin stooped to reach in, withdrawing one of the weapons for closer inspection. Proffering it to the small group, he watched their reactions. Ossen seized the weapon before anyone else could, turning it over and testing its feel in his hungry grip. A reckless fascination was coming alight on his darkening face.
Less eagerly, Godren stepped forward and took one for himself.
“What are they?” Sethos asked, more wary than his two precedents.
“Dart guns,” Bastin explained. “Extremely efficient, stealthy, and – most importantly – lethal. Easy to operate; they kill from a distance. Regardless of faulty aim, the poison in the darts spreads to the heart. I present to you a truly revolutionary weapon, gentlemen, and advise that you appreciate the privilege of being some of the only few in the country to wield its like.”
At Seth’s continuing hesitance, Godren caught his eye and sent him a meaningful, warning look. He knew his friend had become wary to death about criminal business. It was too easy to indulge in what paid when you were wrestling with survival on the streets – and what paid was usually what was dominant in corruption. From the beginning, the two fledgling criminals had sworn to escape the business they had been forced into, had promised to commit only what they had to. It was a tough business to work your way out of once you were immersed, though, and they had both come to recognize the deepening of the pit they were digging around themselves. More and more, they dreaded the actions they had to take, knowing now that it was not so easy to put these things behind them. They both saw they were getting no closer to the top of the pit, and deep down, they saw that they were actually burying themselves deeper and deeper toward the smothering depths that would hold them fast, and hold them eternally.
So seeing Godren’s look, Sethos finally stepped forward and, looking resigned, took his own weapon. He held it gravely, as if it would shoot him itself, and with his hand. Godren could not blame him, but he grasped his weapon with more acceptance.
“Now,” Bastin said. “Darts are stocked here.” Raising the lid of a smaller chest, he bared a stash of pouches f
illed with the apparent darts. Taking out a pouch, he pulled the strings open. “Learn how to load them into the guns,” he said, taking one out and running the sharp needle almost fondly down his finger. “To assure you have it right, you can fire on the prisoners; they’re in the cages under Mastodon’s quarters. If you kill them, you’ve got it right, since that’s all that matters. Congratulate yourselves, and load them likewise henceforth. As far as I’m concerned, I say you can practice on the cats as well, but Mastodon would likely have a hissy fit. Now, you,” he said, pointing the dart at Godren and touching the tip quite unnervingly to his chest, “you are warranted to bleed the affective life out of these little suckers before use so they won’t kill. Since you seem to be on condition terms with Mastodon. What nonsense, hunting without killing. But she says so. Drain it here, like this, see? Half full should only paralyze – but permanently, of course. Less will cause lethargy and drunkenness.” Slapping the dart into Godren’s palm, Bastin gave him a pointed look. “Don’t use less.”
Godren met his eyes evenly, but didn’t allow the defiance he felt to register any further. No doubt Bastin saw it beneath the surface, but it at least meant that Godren understood what was expected of him, and since no objection was voiced, Bastin took it to mean he would obey, too.
“Have fun,” Bastin bade everyone morbidly, and then he left them.
Ossen was already loading his gun. Seth was staring down at the weapon in his hands, and Godren was looking after Bastin.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m going to execute a few prisoners,” Ossen announced, then settled his eyes mockingly on Godren. “Do you want to come…paralyze a few?” Grinning conceitedly to himself, Ossen headed for the door. “You have to test it somehow, you know. But you’ll probably risk Mastodon’s wrath and go after a mere cat, won’t you?”
“I can just as easily spare the cat and risk her wrath by not testing the thing at all,” Godren pointed out.
Ossen stopped in the doorway to shake his head at his nemesis. “Can’t even kill a cat. It’s a wonder you can eat, Godren, your stomach is so weak.” Then, smirking, he left.
Seth had his jaw clenched now, the gun in his hands momentarily disregarded. “I’m going to ruffle his petals one day…” he swore.
Godren glanced at him. Then he smiled. “I look forward to seeing you do it. Weak stomach or no, I’m watching.”
5: A Cripple’s Blades
The dart guns were easily enough figured out. Godren did not test his, though – more from reluctance than defiance.
They left the Underworld for a stroll of fresh air later that night. Godren’s first day of service had ended up being a simple introduction to the aspects of his ultimate pending assignment, and though his dismissal for the day was unofficial, there had been nothing at all pressing for attention, and it had been evident enough that he was off duty for the time being. The real action would start soon enough, but it seemed he had been granted a night to settle in, more or less. So he took advantage of the idle hours and slipped out with Sethos.
“Alright, what’s the big idea?” Seth asked as soon as they were out of the Ruins. He had kept quiet long enough, discretionally in tuned with Godren’s subtle hints to wait for a better time, and he wasn’t going to wait any longer.
“Well, telling you this beforehand would have been pointless, because you would have only scoffed at me,” Godren began. “And honestly I didn’t think of it. But there is something you should know about Mastodon’s domain. Undoubtedly you’ve heard the rumors of the ghosts that haunt there. Up until just recently I thought them only rumors – stories to heighten her ominous reputation. But I think…gods, they must be real. Nothing goes on in her kingdom without her knowing, without her hearing. She knew when I brought you in. Unless it’s the walls keeping their eyes open for her, then the ghosts exist.”
Sethos kept his eyes focused ahead of him as they walked, not looking fabulously thrilled with the situation. “Right. Smashing. So, basically, I’m out.”
“Unless you want to stay and lend your services like Mastodon expects.”
Now, Seth looked at him. “I thought we agreed that you wouldn’t get me into anything else.”
“I was trying to help you, Seth,” Godren said, in no mood to be reprimanded about his attempt at a good deed. “I owe you something for all you did that night.” ‘That night’ was the designated reference to the nigth Sethos had crashed through the door raving about the accusations heaped on Godren, which had quickly turned to Sethos risking his own neck and innocence to spirit Godren out of town before the authorities and the angry townspeople raided his home and dragged him away. Godren had mostly been in shock from the accusations, and without Seth’s help he never would have escaped the mob.
“You don’t owe me anything,” Sethos said, but sounded a little bitter.
“Fine. I tried. Here’s your chance to get out, then. Go.” Sounding a little bitter himself, Godren halted as if to let Seth continue on his own. Sethos stopped as well, though, and faced Godren.
“See it’s not that easy, Godren. I threw away my life to see you safely out of Wingbridge, so what can I do but stick by your side? I don’t have anyone else, and I made you my responsibility that night.”
“You did more than you ever had to, Seth. You owe me nothing. I appreciate what you did; now leave me and get out of this mess. It is that easy. That easy.”
“I can’t accept it, Ren,” Seth said, shaking his head with a tired look in his eyes. “I can’t do it.”
They looked at one another for a few moments, eyes sharing something dire and weary, something angry and even more loyal.
“Then I don’t want to hear about what I do to get you into trouble,” Godren said. “I’m sorry I’ve been nothing but bad luck on your shoulders, but I take no credit for binding you to my side.”
Seth didn’t reply, ducking his head in troubled, serious thought.
“She’s slime, Seth. Just like you said. It’s going to get messy, and deep. I don’t expect you to stay.”
Thinking still, Seth shifted his stance, not speaking.
“With crafty bargaining you get out of cold-blooded killing, but what’s the use if the alternative is maiming and paralyzing? Mastodon is where I crossed the line, Seth. There’s no going back for me. I’m caught. Sure I have hopes of breaking free – but we all realize they’re unrealistic at this point. I don’t really expect to anymore. So keep trying while you still can. You’re not as wanted as I am. You have a chance.”
Seth looked back up and met his eyes again. Godren was finished, ready to turn away as soon as he gave in. “I’m staying, Ren.”
Something in Godren’s eyes fell, but then it was replaced by hard acceptance.
“I gave everything up to save your neck; I’m not going to have it all be for nothing. We’re in this together whether I like it or not.” Though still touched by that bitter hue, Seth’s tone was encouraging this time as well. And though Godren detested his friend’s choice at prolonging his involvement, he found his spirits lifted even as his mood felt sour.
Heading back the way they had come, Seth ended the matter with one final word in passing;
“Let’s hunt some rascals.”
*
Their first orders were clear enough:
“Purge the Ruins. I want no man, child, rat or spider walking my alleys except the ones I have cleared. Make it so, and keep it so.” Before they could turn from her midst to do her bidding, Mastodon held up a hand to make one more point. “Don’t waste the venom on these minor stages of the operation. Just run them out. If anyone looks particularly suspicious, you are welcome to bring them in for questioning. Disperse.”
Ossen was the first out the door, clearly the most eager about the assignment – or at least the most eager to please Mastodon. Godren was careful not to show hesitance, but he didn’t exactly charge after Ossen with wild abandon, either, battle cries echoing in his wake. He turned obediently and practiced compos
ure, trying to keep an acceptably neutral attitude about the matter.
“Wait a moment, Godren,” Mastodon requested coolly, stopping him once more. He looked back over his shoulder. “Tell me something, darling…how do you find my venomous method of assault?”
Sethos remained in the room in addition to Mastodon’s bidding, turning to lend Godren silent support though he stood cloaked in the shadows of the back wall.
Godren placed himself carefully while he looked for the best way to answer. “Vicious,” he said honestly. “But it’s swift, so that has to account for something.”
“Has to?” Mastodon cocked an eyebrow at his choice of words. “Do you say that perhaps because you have not tried it out for yourself?”
“That is not why I said it.”
“But you haven’t tested it, have you? I’m told you have not.”
“Who tells you these things, my lady?” Godren asked with a shake of his head, as if denying the accusation. It could have been the ghosts, or it could have been Ossen, but he wanted to know which Mastodon would claim. Would she ever make reference to the ghosts she kept?
“It was Ossen, dear that he is.”
At that Godren found himself a little incensed, growing quickly tired of Ossen’s prying and conceited tattling. “Forgive me, madam, but how would he know?” he challenged a little tightly, meeting her eyes. Unless you have him watching me, keeping track of my every move?
Mastodon watched him for a moment, thinking, and then her slithery lips curved into a smile. “Indeed.”
Forgetting himself in his irritation, Godren disregarded his respects and turned on his own to leave, issuing his own dismissal and striding out. Sethos was quick to follow, not keen on staying in Mastodon’s company alone, especially if Godren had just tweaked one of her nerves the wrong way.
“You are aware you’ll score major points that way, aren’t you, Godren?”
Bounty Page 3
