Dark Practices: Book Four of the Phantom Badgers

by RW Krpoun

  “No,” Gerhard said hoarsely. “What do you want?”

  “Everything you know about the cult, in detail. Now, we know some, a great deal perhaps, and certainly enough to tell if you are lying.”

  A sneer creased the leather worker’s face. “And then what, you’ll hurt me? I’ll probably enjoy that; there isn’t much you can do to me that I haven’t paid good money to have done.”

  “Ah, there you’re wrong.” Philip held up a pair of shears. “I know you haven't had these things done to you because you still have all your fingers and toes, and various other bits which can easily be snipped off or poked out. That’s why I’m heating up the poker, Gerhard: to cauterize the wounds so you won’t bleed to death.”

  Gerhard’s eyes slid over to the stove. “I’m not a cultist.”

  “No, you’re what they call an artificer,” Philip agreed, suddenly slamming his sand-filled cosh into the inside of the man’s elbow, numbing Gerhard’s lower arm. Before the full feeling could come back, Philip had the leather-worker’s little finger of his left hand held in the shears between the second and third joint. “Of course, I’m not a torturer, either, but I got a good look at that place under the barn, and a few other examples of how you and your employers work, and I believe I’m prepared to do things I’ve never had to do before. After all, cutting a man up with a sword and doing it with shears all works to the same end, don’t they? Are you going to need proof of my sincerity?”

  “No. What do you want to know?”

  “How did you get the order for the badges?”

  “A man came for them and waited while I worked.”

  “What is his name?”

  “I know him as ‘Hanns’, but that’s not his real name.” The shears cut through the finger with a sound like a twig breaking. Gerhard’s eyes bugged out and he gagged with the pain.

  “Scream or yell and I’ll move lower,” Philip warned, holding the bloody shears before the leather worker’s eyes. Gerhard gasped and choked, but kept his silence. “Good lad, you know your way around a spot of pain.” Stepping to the stove, Philip grabbed up the handle of the poker, using a strip of leather to protect his hand, and cauterized the stump. “There, you won’t bleed to death. Now, you lied to me: I’ve searched your office and I know that you received a note from Cens ordering the badges. Another lie, another finger, and so on. Think of it this way: if you help us, you get to live; the cult is going to have its hands full for the next couple days, plenty of time for you to gather up your money and run for it. Put a hundred miles between yourself and Teasau and you’ll be safe.” Philip grinned. “Maybe two hundred; anyway, my point is, the cult is somewhere else, while I’m here.”

  “I might not be any safer running; there are Circles everywhere.”

  “Certainly a lot safer than you are now, naked and down to nine fingers.” Philip let him think about it. “Now, how long have you known Cens?”

  Tonya, dressed in a cotton shirt and canvas pants, her sword and hammer in her belt, was sitting at the desk drinking wine when Philip came in, drying his hands. “How did it go?”

  “Good enough, if you can call that sort of thing good. Did you find the order letter from Cens?”

  “Here.” She tapped her pouch, the same old one she had worn when they came to Teasau; the decorated one with the matching belt Gerhard had made her were in the same trash bin as both of her ‘outfits’. “Now what?”

  “Now we leave; I had to sever two fingers before he believed that telling me the truth was the best course to follow, and when we were done I ran an awl into his ear. It was quick, if not particularly pleasant.”

  “You killed him?”

  “Yes, a bit of a change in plans, but hardly unwarranted.” The tired-looking Badger stepped over to the book case and reached behind a row of ledgers, pulling out a portfolio. “Take a look at these.”

  Tonya looked at the first drawing, cursed, flipped through several other, than tossed the portfolio near the workshop door where it would be easily found. “I...agggh,” she shuddered. “I thought he was oriented for adults.”

  “Apparently not fully set in his ways,” Philip turned the last key in the hidden strong box and opened the lid. “And no point in leaving his money behind.”

  The tall standard-bearer looked at the portfolio on the floor. “I wonder if he... helped at the ceremonies.” Unbidden, the memory of those half-sized racks sprang to mind.

  “Yes, he did,” Philip closed the strongbox and locked it. “He told me so himself in the course of our discussion. He wasn’t a core member, not yet, merely a fellow with twisted tastes who could indulge any sort of fantasy he wanted in their service. The good news is, as far as he knows they have no Seers, Watchers, or spellcasters in their ranks. What magic they command is derived from the summoning of the Sphere, and that is primarily oriented towards prolonging the lives of the inner circle.” He stood and dusted off his knees. “Time to go, I imagine.”

  “I wish we’d never come here.” A thought struck her. “Where are the drawings of me? I wouldn’t want them falling into cultist hands.”

  “Good idea.” Philip rummaged through the desk and found them. “He’s added a bunch since I was here last.”

  Tonya took the binder and flipped through it. “By the Eight, I’m glad you warned me; the plans he had.”

  “That’s true. There’s one or two there you might want to keep, just simple sketches done in a good hand.”

  “I’m naked in them.” She fixed him with a steely glare.

  “You could give them to me as a present at the next Breham Festival,” Philip suggested, unabashed.

  Maxmillian had suggested that a wandering Healer, one who hired on with the larger caravans or logging companies would be the likeliest candidate, rather than a local Doctor who would fear reprisals. It took a couple hours of asking around, but such questions were hardly unusual, and by mid-morning they had sounded out two candidates who had flatly refused. The third possibility they found in the Festive Turnip having a late breakfast or an early lunch, a portly man in his mid-twenties dressed rather nattily in a sleeveless leather jerkin dyed dark green and black over a pale green cotton shirt, and black linen trousers tucked into low boots. His blond hair, which was exceedingly thin on top, was cut to less than an inch in length and persuaded by oil to stand upright across his pink scalp; his features were both good natured and intelligent, if a bit heavy, his puffy cheeks and sunken blue eyes giving him the appearance of squinting myopically at the world. A stout leather pack leaned against his chair along with a quarterstaff, and a dagger hung at his hip, both weapons showing signs of use.

  “Doctor Ernest Kuhler?” Elonia asked, stepping up to the table.

  “Yes, that’s me.” The Healer smiled, his eyes sliding expertly across the Seeress’ body. “Won’t you have a seat? Wine?”

  “Thank you.” She introduced herself and Maxmillian, using their real names. “We are with the Phantom Badgers, and we need to hire the services of a Healer before undertaking an operation.”

  “I was under the impression that the Badgers were up at a new colony north of Hohenfels, New Something,” Kuhler’s voice was a bit high-pitched for a man his size, but it was calm and confident as well.

  “They are,” Elonia kept her face bland despite being impressed that he knew so much about Company operations. “We’re a detachment on a special mission here in Teasau, and we need a Healer.”

  “Well, I am that, fully adept with practical medical lore and Amplus Viraes, and while I am not heavily experienced, the bulk of my practical applications have been in the area of wounds and violent injuries. I recently finished a two-year contract with the Navy’s rivertine forces, and have been hiring on with caravans and such ever since.”

  “That would meet our requirements. Now, what we are proposing to do is mount a raid on a group of cultists a short distance outside of Teasau, and we want to have a Healer along for obvious reasons; naturally, your medical talents are your
only involvement.”

  “A military operation within the settled confines of the Empire? Unusual.”

  “Not so much a military operation as a raid. The cult in question has declared a state of hostilities with our Company, and we wish to destroy the cult’s key fixture prior to reporting what we know to the Trident, both as revenge and to ensure that their ability to mount reprisals is limited.”

  “What sort of cult is it?”

  “Evening’s Gate.”

  “Ah, you’re after an Orbheart then,” the Doctor observed, and smiled at Elonia’s cocked eyebrows. “We didn’t just study bones and organs at school. So how do I know that you are really operating against cultists and not some prosperous merchants with a lock-box full of Marks?”

  “We can take an oath in any temple of the Eight you care to choose, administered by whatever church member you desire,” Elonia shrugged, confident. “Or you can leave a letter with someone.”

  “Speaking of letters, do you have one identifying yourselves?”

  The Seeress handed over the letter from Durek identifying all members of the team as Phantom Badgers and stating that they were operating under his orders. Kuhler read it carefully before handing it back. “I take it this will be a single-day operation?”

  “Yes, all you will need is a single meal, something to drink, and your medical gear.”

  Kuhler tapped the pack with the toe of his boot. “I always carry my medical ‘gear’. When do you plan this operation?”

  “As soon as possible.”

  “Ah.” The Doctor drank some wine and smiled thoughtfully as he stared off into the distance for a bit. “I will require twenty Marks for the day’s work, plus ten more each time I Heal or fight, and I want to see the Orbheart before you destroy it.”

  Both of Elonia’s eyebrows headed for her hairline. “You certainly have a good opinion of yourself.”

  He grinned. “I’m not the first Healer you’ve checked, I’m sure, and you won’t find many wandering Doctors in town at this time of the year. Wars are expensive propositions, ask any taxpayer.”

  Elonia looked at Maxmillian, who shrugged. “All right, but you get your twenty at the city gates.”

  “Fine. When do we leave?”

  “In a couple hours or less, the timing is flexible.”

  “Good. Tell me which city gate we’re leaving through, and I’ll be waiting in the nearest tavern after I make a stop by a notary’s. We can do the oath as well, there’re chapels near every gate.”

  “Trusting soul, aren’t you?”

  “Aren’t we all.”

  “I take it you got a reading from him?” Maxmillian asked as they made their way out of the city. “I saw you holding something in your hand.”

  “Yes, a nice, sharp one: he’s clear, no trace of darkness, which makes him safe or someone with an incredibly good cover-aura. It’s possible we can recruit him after this job; I believe he’s been looking for a mercenary billet. Now we go back to the inn, check on Dooaun, and wait for Philip and Tonya.”

  “I hope they’re quick getting back, I’m ready for this job to be over.”

  “You and me both.”

  They were pleased to find the rest of the Badgers gathered at the inn waiting for them. “Nothing’s changed at the site; Dooaun says the Company’s south of New Fork assaulting a log fort the Goblins built on the river,” Philip reported.

  “A log fort on the river?” Maxmillian asked, obviously concerned. “You mean the Spider’s cut river traffic?”

  Philip shrugged. “That’s all he said, he’s busy keeping an eye on the Orbheart.”

  “That’s bad news, if they’ve cut the river,” the scholar muttered. “That puts everything on the line.”

  “We’ve other business to concern ourselves with.” Elonia’s voice was brisk, but she laid a hand on the historian’s shoulder. “We’re too far away to help, in any case. Everyone gather your weapons, we leave in ten minutes.”

  The seven cult-hunters walked to the designated gate, found the Doctor, waited while Elonia provided the requested oath, and then handed over twenty Marks to the Healer.

  “We’re in the wrong line of work,” Philip muttered to Tonya as the heavily-armed group set off away from the city. “He gets more money for Healing one person on this job than I’m getting for this entire month.” The dark-haired Badger scowled into the middle distance, figuring. “Just about twice as much, in fact.”

  “We should have gone to school, you know, the higher ones,” Tonya nodded. “There’s never any shortage of sword-swingers.”

  Their destination was an isolated house some five miles outside of Teasau, which they reached two hours after noon, the Badgers sweating in their armor by the time they got to their staging point, a seldom-used shepherd’s hut a half-mile from the house. The raid group took a break in the shade next to the hut and bathed their feet in a nearby stream.

  Elonia waited until Dooaun had plied his Arts, then summoned the rest of the Badgers together to plan, passing around the rough drawings of the house the Watcher had made. “Nothing seems to have changed around the Orbheart, although cultists have showed up at the cottage and found yesterday’s bodies since we left the city. Ahead down the road is the house, which sits in the center of elaborately manicured gardens. It is owned by the Graveur brothers, Klaus and Vorster, who make their money in cotton imports; they will be full-fledged cult members of the inner circle whose lives are bound to the Orbheart. Smash the Orbheart, and they won’t likely survive the shock.”

  “Of course, they won’t wait around while we’re doing that,” Philip observed.

  “True, we’ve some fighting ahead of us. Since we can’t get close to the house in broad daylight, and we can’t wait for night, we’re stuck with a frontal assault; Durek gave me two Storms of Disruption and two Orbs of Warding, but one Storm was ruined yesterday. The Orbs are too dangerous: we don’t want to be starting any fires and attracting attention unless we absolutely have to. We’ll approach from the side, I’ll get up on the roof, we’ll climb into the attic and clear the house floor by floor. The house is two stories with a cellar and attic, and the Orbheart could be anywhere, so we’ll have to search every inch of the place. Maxmillian, and I will work as a team, while Pug, Tonya, and Philip will act as another; the Doctor will remain at least one room behind us, ready to take care of any wounded. Once we’ve cleared the ground floor, Maxmillian, myself, and Pug will clear the cellar while Philip and Tonya loot. Dooaun and Leta will remain outside, hidden in the trees, until the fight is over. Any questions?”

  “A detail or two on just how you get to the roof,” Philip gestured with the sketch of the house’s exterior. “Dooaun shows the house as having walls of close-set stone blocks and free of decoration. I doubt you’ll find any handhold solid enough to support your weight.”

  “I have some very mild abilities in Vectius Meum, as you know, and one of my few spells allows me to render my body nearly weightless; I’ll use the spell, then pull myself up the stones hand over hand, trailing a rope behind me, and then tie the rope around a chimney,” Elonia explained. “Then you follow.”

  “Clever,” Philip nodded. “I wondered why we were lugging fifty feet of rope with climbing knots. What’s the order of climb?”

  “Maxmillian, Pug, you, Tonya, the Doctor.”

  “That seems to be all;” Maxmillian hefted his hammer and let it fall, crushing a small pile of acorns he had painstakingly stacked. “I move we get on with it; I hate the waiting.”

  “Anyone object? Then off we go.”

  The raiders slipped through the neighboring pastures, each fenced off with field stone fences and edged with double rows of red oak or northern beeches, the latter popular roosts for flocks of pigeons, circling around to the east side of the south-facing mansion, approaching unseen to the last stand of trees, fifty yards from the house.

  “I’ll wave when I’m ready,” Elonia whispered, adjusting the coil of rope around her shoulders. �
��Come quick when I signal.”

  After carefully studying the six windows (three per floor) which were irregularly set and securely covered with decorative-wrought iron bars for any signs of watchers, the Seeress uncocked her crossbow, slung it, and trotted out across the carefully trimmed lawn, moving fast. Pausing at the wall, she murmured a long incantation and then pulled herself up the wall, the tiny purchase her fingers found in the mortared gaps between the polished gray stone blocks more than sufficient to propel her nearly weightless body upward, pausing every few feet to flip another coil of rope from her shoulders.

  Once on the roof she scuttled across the thick curved clay roof tiles to the nearest brick chimney and tied the rope around it, feeling her weight returning as she rose up to wave; by the time she had reached one of the small gabled attic windows she was moving carefully, her spell expended. Cutting a square of thick flannel to fit the glass pane, she covered one side with honey squeezed from a flask and pressed it to the window, the honey gluing the cloth to the glass. After waiting a moment, the Seeress struck the center of the window with the butt of her crossbow.

  The blow broke the glass but the honey held nearly all the fragments to the flannel; working carefully, prying and giving sharp raps here and there as needed, the Badger peeled the cloth back, bringing out most of the glass with it. Unlatching the window, Elonia slipped through into the attic, the bundled wad of flannel in one hand and a throwing knife in the other. Stepping away from the window, she found herself in a long room the same dimensions of the top floor, a long dusty chamber containing old chests, damaged or worn furniture, and the usual junk people put in attics. Setting the glass-filled flannel on a handy chest, Elonia cocked and loaded her crossbow as Maxmillian squeezed through the window.