Servant: The Dark God Book 1

by John D. Brown

  “Really,” Talen said. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

  “Act natural,” said Nettle. “Here, have a bite.” He held up his pudding. It had currants and nuts mixed in with a good helping of something green and shaggy. The whole thing was held together by some wiggling gelatin that reminded Talen of animal birthings.

  “I think I’d like to focus on the matter at hand.”

  “What you want to do is distract yourself, because if you spook, those men will think you’re guilty and asking for a chase. Now take a bite.”

  Nettle had a point. Talen waved off the bread pudding mess, took one of the sweet almond small cakes instead, and bit into it. It was baked with sugar, and while it crunched on the outside, the inside was soft and just about melted in his mouth. Any other situation and he’d swear he’d visited the gardens of the righteous.

  Talen glanced over at Nettle who promptly showed him the contents of his mouth.

  “Sooner or later,” said Talen, “that stuff is going to gag you. And when folks ask how you died, I’ll tell them you did it eating pig food.”

  Nettle laughed. “No, you won’t. You’ll remember I used it to save your life. And then you’ll eat it the rest of your days.”

  “Being induced to vomit is hardly a rescue,” said Talen.

  “It’s a distraction,” said Nettle. “And it worked, didn’t it?”

  It had, but Talen wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.

  They crossed a small bridge spanning a muddy canal and then turned onto Fuller’s Lane.

  Down the lane two boys circled a large black, rat snake. It was as long as Talen’s leg and as thick as his wrist.

  Talen tensed. He didn’t have to see their faces to know who they were. It was Fabbis and that lazy-eyed Sabin with his head shaved and dyed with temple henna.

  So much for disgusting mouthfuls of bread pudding. Suddenly Talen’s small cakes didn’t taste so good anymore. He took a drink of water from a goat’s bladder to wash them down.

  “Fancy pants,” Nettle said.

  Fabbis wore a pair of finely woven scarlet and yellow trousers. The worth of the fabric covering that moron’s sweaty bum alone was more than everything Talen had put together.

  Talen turned his head, not wanting to make eye contact with Fabbis.

  “They’re going about it all wrong,” said Nettle. “Look at them.”

  Sabin held a stick and kept heading the snake off. Every time he did, the snake coiled up and tried to strike him. But if they wanted to catch it, they needed to let it slither and then snatch up the tail.

  “Let’s just get to the fuller’s,” said Talen.

  Sabin reached in to snatch the snake, but it struck at him.

  As they rode closer, Talen could overhear their conversation.

  “You’ve got to be faster than that,” said Fabbis.

  “Okay, Lord of the basket,” said Sabin, “you try.”

  Fabbis snatched the stick from Sabin then used it to fling the beast a few feet. When the snake landed, it tried to slither to the safety of some weeds, but Fabbis chased after it. He grabbed it by the tail and picked it up. At that moment he glanced toward Nettle and Talen.

  Talen purposely ignored Fabbis. He simply pulled up to the fuller’s and set the wagon brake, hoping Fabbis would decide, for once, not to torment him. Of course, Fabbis, being a horned bunion, was unlikely to do that.

  Talen steeled himself and turned, knowing they must be close, but to his surprise the two pisspots disappeared behind a cluster of trees, Fabbis holding the snake out before him.

  He let out a sigh of relief. Maybe his luck would hold out. “Be quick.”

  “I’m going,” said Nettle. “Be calm.”

  “Fine for you to say with your Mokaddian wrist tattoo. But you weren’t beaten by a pack of village idiots a day ago. Or forced to strip at the gates.”

  “This lane is full of people friendly to the Koramites,” said Nettle. “You’ll be fine.”

  Talen waved him away. “Try to avoid offending the household this time.”

  “Bah,” said Nettle.

  Talen stepped from the wagon and tied the reins to the hitching post while Nettle walked to the porch and knocked at the fuller’s door.

  The young foreign woman from Urz who Nettle had offended the last time they were here opened the door. She was beautiful, copper-skinned with eyes as blue and bright the silks she sold. But she only narrowed those eyes in irritation at Nettle. Nettle had flirted with her, but he’d said something that by the customs of her people indicated Nettle wanted to hire her as a prostitute. By the time word reached Uncle Argoth of the incident it had been blown into a tale of unwanted pregnancy. Two families who had expressed interest in Nettle as a potential marriage candidate for their daughters had concerns. Nettle had been made to apologize to all of them.

  On any other occasion Talen would have relished the exchange playing out on the doorstep, but Fabbis and Sabin made him nervous. He eyed the clump of trees Fabbis had disappeared behind and hoped Nettle would have enough brains to know that the quicker they finished their business here the better.

  Talen suspected Fabbis had caught the snake for a game of Fool’s Basket. The rules were very simple. You put a snake into a basket, irritated it until it was ready to strike, and then you tried to catch it without being bitten. You could use a short stick to draw the snake’s attention, but the only thing that could touch the snake was your hand.

  Talen had played three times before with a small garden snake and had been bitten every time. You almost needed to be a dreadman to play the game. In fact, the game had started with them. He’d seen five dreadmen play it once. Their speed was shocking. They would catch the snake at the base of the head before it had time to strike. Furthermore, they had been playing with a lance of fire, not a simple rat snake. One bite would have killed them.

  He hoped that Fabbis was slow and the snake’s fangs were long and bit deep.

  Nettle began to explain to the copper-skinned beauty what they’d come for. When she let Nettle in to fetch the cloth River had ordered, someone in the clump of trees into which Fabbis had disappeared screamed like a river gut held him in its maw.

  Talen glanced at Nettle, but he was already in the house, shutting the door behind him.

  Whoever it was cried out again. The fear and pain in that scream turned his blood cold.

  “Please!” someone cried.

  Nettle was never around when he needed him! Talen glanced once more at the fuller’s.

  If a Koramite sat around while a Mokaddian called for help, the Koramite would be punished for not lending a hand. Even if it was someone like Fabbis who deserved every misfortune that came to him.

  Another scream. Surely, someone in one of the houses heard that one and would shortly appear.

  Talen waited, but nobody came.

  He could just sit here. Nobody else seemed to have heard. But he wondered. That was Fabbis down there, and the voice had been high-pitched like a girl’s.

  Talen cursed. Then he left the wagon and walked down the lane to the source of the commotion.

  He told himself he didn’t need to get involved. He could just assess what was going on, and, if needed, run to one of the houses and alert the inhabitants.

  Talen skirted round the clump of trees and immediately saw the situation. There on his hands and knees was a boy. Talen didn’t recognize him. He was scrawny and dressed in filthy rags. Obviously, out of place here on Fuller’s Lane.

  The boy attempted to scrabble away from Fabbis and Sabin. When he tried to rise, Sabin kicked the boy’s legs out from underneath him. But that wasn’t what made this beggar boy cry out.

  Fabbis still held the rat snake by the tail. He was laughing so hard he almost doubled over. Talen thought that maybe they were simply threatening the boy with the snake. But Fabbis regained his composure enough to swing the snake’s head up against the boy’s buttocks. The snake’s head bumped the boy, once, twice. On
the third bounce it opened its mouth wide and bit deeply.

  The boy cried out again with his high-pitched squeal, terror written on his face. He tried to run off again, but Sabin kicked him in the gut so hard it knocked the boy over.

  “Pull up his tunic,” said Fabbis. “We’ll see if Zu Snake wants a taste of walnuts and sausage.”

  Leave it to Fabbis to think something like this up. Rat snakes carried no venom, but that didn’t lessen the pain of their bite. Fabbis and Sabin had both gotten their clan wrists, signifying they were men, which only proved those tattoos meant nothing. These two were cruel children.

  Talen turned to see if anyone else had come, but he was alone.

  Talen did not know this boy; he could quietly step back around the trees and let the Mokaddians do what they pleased. That would be the smart thing: he had a serious message to get to River and his own beating to avoid, but this would only get worse. Talen had been that boy only yesterday.

  Talen raised his voice. “Surely,” he said, “you could get at the vital parts a bit better by making him stand.”

  Fabbis looked back over his shoulder. When he saw Talen, his face broke into a wicked grin. “I was just saying to Sabin here, wouldn’t it be nice if Turd Soup joined us? Where’s the Koramite-lover you came with?”

  “At the fuller’s.”

  “Well, we don’t need to wait for him. Come on over here, Half Breed. You can help.”

  At one of the musters last year Talen had momentarily left his lamb soup to fetch a load of arrows for Da from the wagon. When he returned, he took a spoonful and found someone had slipped rabbit turds into the bowl. When he looked around, he’d seen Fabbis and Sabin watching him, grinning with delight.

  Talen knew exactly what kind of help Fabbis meant. Usually, Fabbis also had Cat with him, a boy that kept his dark hair oiled and shining and painted his eyes with kohl as many of the sons of the clan lords had begun to do. Talen looked about, but it appeared Fabbis and Sabin were alone. “It appears,” said Talen, “that you’ve done me a great service. The fuller asked that I find his stable boy. And there he is. I’m sure the fuller would be interested to know how you’ve corrected him.” Talen held his hand out. “Now, come along, boy.”

  The boy’s eyes were red. His face covered with dirt and tears.

  Sabin began to let go his grip, but Fabbis put a hand out to stop him.

  “This, a fuller’s boy?” Fabbis shook his head. “I don’t think so. Besides, the thief was sneaking into that house when we came along. We only thought to wring a confession from him. Maybe identify the members of his cabal. There’s never just one, you know.”

  “I wasn’t stealing,” said the boy.

  “Shut up,” said Sabin and clopped the boy on the head.

  Talen knew what that felt like as well. He was also positive the boy hadn’t been doing anything close to breaking and entering. He’d probably been walking along, minding his own business, and Fabbis had spied him and seen an opportunity for yet another small-minded torture. “I’m sure the street boss would commend your vigilance,” said Talen. “Not to mention the fuller. Think what it would cost him were his servant to be caught stealing. Let’s take him to his master; I’m sure he’ll reward you just to keep your mouth shut.”

  Talen glanced about. Nobody had come to investigate the cries. His best bet was to leave now and get some help.

  Fabbis looked at Sabin. “Maybe he’s right. What were we thinking? Deliver the boy to Master Half Breed.”

  Sabin approached, malevolence in his lazy eye. But Talen knew exactly what he was going to do, and he wasn’t going to let Sabin within a dozen feet. “Just let him go,” said Talen taking a step back. “I’m sure he’s seen the error of his ways.”

  “Of course,” said Sabin, but just then Talen heard something behind him. He turned and saw Cat, painted eyes and shining hair, with a rope. Talen dodged out of the way, but he wasn’t fast enough and the rope fell about his shoulders.

  Talen grabbed at the rope, but Cat gave it a yank, and the rope tightened about his neck. Cat yanked again, and Talen stumbled to his knees, the rope choking him.

  Talen pulled at the noose with one hand and grabbed the rope with the other.

  “It looks like we’ve rolled double pleasure with today’s dice,” said Fabbis. “Get his feet.”

  Talen imagined them forcing the snake to bite his face, the fangs sinking through the flesh of his cheek. He imagined Sabin the day before, raising that huge liver-colored field stone to crack his head. Panic flooded through him. And then anger. He yanked at the rope with all his might so he might loosen its hold upon his neck. He expected Cat to stumble forward. Instead, Cat yelled and opened his hands like they’d been burned, giving Talen full control of the rope. Talen loosened the noose and rolled to his feet and found Fabbis swinging the snake at him.

  But Fabbis hadn’t taken a good stance, and Talen delivered a sweeping kick that knocked Fabbis’s feet from underneath him.

  He fell, arms wheeling, the snake flying wide.

  Talen saw his chance. He snatched the snake as it flew. And before it could coil about his arm and bite him, he grasped it by the base of the head.

  Fabbis landed with a thump, and Talen fell upon him, driving his knee into Fabbis’s gut.

  Fabbis grunted. He tried to roll, but Talen stuck the serpent in his face.

  “Should we see if Zu Snake wants a taste of walnuts and sausage?” asked Talen. “No? How about a kiss?” Talen shoved the mouth of the snake against Fabbis’s cheek.

  Fabbis turned his head away.

  “No kiss?”

  Fabbis tried to struggle away, but Talen found he could hold him.

  He couldn’t explain it. This shouldn’t be happening. Da forced Talen to wrestle Fabbis in the musters. He said the best practice for fighting someone bent on your death was to fight someone bent on your death. And since they didn’t have a large supply of young Bone Faces about, he found the next best thing—a Fir-Noy. Fabbis always beat him. Once he’d broken Talen’s nose just to spite him. But perhaps Talen had finally begun to get his speed and size. He glanced over at Sabin to make sure he didn’t get blindsided, but Sabin just stood there with his mouth hanging open like some great fish.

  Cat had not moved. He still stood in the same spot, his hands out in front of him.

  Nettle stood just beyond Cat, a look of surprise on his face.

  “Oh, now you show up,” said Talen. “Grab the boy.”

  The beggar boy looked at Talen with fright.

  Nettle moved to help the boy up, but the boy scrambled back in fright and then turned and fled down the lane.

  Talen looked down at Fabbis. “Looks like your bounty just took heels.” He got up, making sure to push down extra hard on Fabbis’s gut with his knee.

  The snake tried to coil itself around Talen’s arm, but Talen simply changed his grip, grabbed the tail, and let it hang loose.

  Fabbis scrabbled to his feet and backed away, weeds clinging to his clothes and hair. He had a strange look in his eyes. “Nobody moves like that,” he said.

  “I just did,” said Talen. Then he swung the snake at Fabbis. “Don’t be scared.”

  Sabin and Cat backed away as well.

  “Oh, come,” said Talen to Sabin. “You were willing enough to tangle with me yesterday.”

  “Stay away,” said Fabbis. He backed up, Sabin and Cat not a pace behind him.

  Talen couldn’t believe it. Da had always told him that the meanest bullies were always the biggest cowards. He had never believed that, but maybe it was true.

  “Cowards,” said Talen.

  Fabbis pointed at him. “You’re a dead man.”

  “Ya!” Talen shouted and lunged at them.

  The three of them startled, turned, and ran.

  Cowards. Except Talen knew Fabbis: he wasn’t running away. Fabbis wasn’t one of those who could be satisfied knowing he’d been beaten. He’d be back, and he’d bring others with him.
r />   “That was,” Nettle said in astonishment, “unexpected.”

  “You were right,” said Talen. “I didn’t need to spook.” Then he gently let the snake to the ground, and the creature slithered away toward the cover of the trees.

  “No,” said Nettle. “I meant you.”

  What was his cousin talking about?

  “You plucked the snake right out of the air.”

  “So?”

  “So,” said Nettle, “I came around the corner and saw Cat holding the rope and Fabbis coming at you. But before I took another step you were on him. It was . . . too fast.”

  “Too fast? Maybe, at last, my speed has come upon me.”

  “Yeah,” said Nettle, but Talen could see he wasn’t convinced.

  “Is it impossible that Hogan’s runt suddenly got some of his old man’s growth?”

  “No,” said Nettle. “But I can tell you this: Fabbis won’t see it that way.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That was dreadman quick, Talen.”

  “I just grabbed the snake . . .” he said and trailed off. It was luck. He’d just been lucky. He’d been a little extra lively with alarm and fear.

  Nettle said nothing.

  But he was right about one thing: Fabbis would twist what had happened; Sabin would add his twisted version of what happened yesterday. They would be back. And if they ran into that group of men by the baker’s, they’d bring back a quick mob.

  “We need to get out of here,” Talen said.

  “Act normal,” said Nettle.

  “Normal? We’re way past normal.”

  21

  The Divine

  THE SEVERED HAND of the creature lay upon a table in the center of the Mokaddian Council chamber. Two-dozen Council members crowded about Argoth as he probed the hand. They had heard almost two hours of testimony about the hunt at the village of Plum, the taking of Barg’s family, and the battle at the fortress. It was now Argoth’s turn to relate his portion of the tale. He wondered where Hogan was. He should have been there an hour ago.

  Argoth picked up one of the fingers they’d managed to cut and flaked away small pieces of dirt and grass with his knife. “You can see,” he said, “what appears to have been bone and sinew. But look.” He scraped at the finger innards with his knife.