by Layton Green
“Knife wound?”
Will peeled the bandage back to reveal the nasty gash swimming in goo. Caleb’s face collapsed. “God, Will, I’m so sorry. It’s my fault for grabbing that waitress.”
“Yeah, it is. She must have called those thugs after your big tip. I didn’t even have a chance to pull my—” he patted his side where his sword should be, and felt nothing but cloth.
“My sword—those bastards stole my sword!”
“And my staff,” Val said grimly.
Will saw Caleb staring at his bracers, intact on his forearms. Caleb wisely chose not to comment.
The woman jumped off the six-foot high wall with feline grace. She leaned against the stone and crossed her arms against her chest, the orblight allowing a better look at her features. High cheekbones and a curved nose accentuated a narrow face, as did a faded but prominent scar running vertically from the bridge of her nose to her hairline. A wide and expressive mouth displayed a cool confidence. Though undeniably attractive, she fascinated Will more as a tigress would, safer to observe from afar.
She gazed at them with curved eyes that were as impenetrable as a wall of thorns. Will guessed she wasn’t much older than he, though her irises, an extraordinary violet color, belied experience far beyond her years.
“Maybe I can help with that, wizard.” She was looking at Val. “I’m Mala. I find and retrieve lost or stolen items. Magical items, most often.”
Val stared at her, at a rare loss for words.
“You are a wizard, no? You look wizard born, you have soft wizard hands. And no one carries an Azantite staff except a wizard, though none of the halfwits in the Minotaur’s Den would know Azantite from a lump of coal.”
Val looked to Allira and then back to Mala. He said, “You witnessed the fight. You’re helping us because you think we might utilize your services. How opportunistic.”
“The fight was over too swiftly for me to react,” Mala replied. “Not that I had any duty to assist, and Allira provided her services out of goodwill. I must question, however, how you allowed yourself to be bested by common thugs. You’re perhaps a novice wizard? With an inherited staff?” The way she said it was challenging, as if Val were a trust fund baby who had squandered his inheritance.
“Or perhaps an impostor?” she said quietly, her voice taking on a dangerous edge. “Is there a master of the house who will soon be missing his prized possession?”
“It’s my staff,” Val said curtly. “We appreciate your assistance, especially with my brother’s wound. I’ll pay you for your troubles.” Will was impressed with the coolness of his tone.
“One also wonders about the glitter of so much gold in your pockets,” Mala said. “And one most definitely wonders,” she said, approaching Val with a movement somewhere between swaying and stalking, “what travelers with such strange accents were doing in a mercenary alehouse on Magazine Street, fist-fighting like little children.”
Lance frowned. “Little children? I didn’t want to escalate the situation.”
She gave Lance a challenging look. “And where did that strategy land you?”
Lance mumbled something, and she turned back to Val. “Might the Congregation be interested in the whereabouts of that staff?”
Congregation, Will thought? Have we been drugged and kidnapped by a religious order?
Before anyone could reply, she laughed, the sound both musical and edgy. “Don’t worry, I’m no friend of the Congregation. I wanted to gauge your reaction. Though you possess the self-control and deportment of a wizard, the confusion on your companions’ faces intrigues me even further.”
“My powers are inaccessible to me at this time,” Val said with a ring of authority, still giving a convincing impression that he knew what he was talking about.
Mala cocked her head. “I’ve heard that such a thing can happen to a wizard.” She smirked. “A most unfortunate turn of events.”
Will was growing more uncomfortable by the second. Mala was dangerous at best, ill-intentioned at worst.
But the loss of the sword was unacceptable. It was their only bargaining chip with the necromancer, it had saved their lives, and it was Dad’s. He took a deep breath and stepped forward, knowing this might be their only chance, and knowing Val would not approve. “You can get our weapons back?”
Mala smirked. “I can retrieve them. The question is whether you can afford my services.”
With his next statement, Val surprised Will for the third time in twenty-four hours. “That depends on your rates.”
Will noticed the glint in Val’s eye and saw him touch his bruised and bloodied face, then saw him glance at Will’s knife wound. Then he understood.
This Mala woman might be an uncertain and frightening wild card, but Valjean Roland Blackwood hated to be one-upped, couldn’t bear to see his brothers harmed, and held a grudge longer than anyone Will knew.
Will worshipped his brother, but he wasn’t someone he would ever want to cross.
They started bartering, and now Will felt sorry for Mala. Different universe or not, he wouldn’t bet against Val in a negotiation. After a long back and forth, and a diatribe by Val about the simple nature of the task for someone of her obvious capabilities, Mala threw her hands up in disgust and declared she was sick of arguing. They settled on the price of twenty gold coins for the retrieval of the staff and the sword. Allira looked bemused.
“What’s your plan of attack?” Val asked.
“We go tonight, while the trail is keen. Everyone goes, in case all is not as it appears.”
Caleb was staring off to the side, as if he hadn’t heard her. Lance stepped forward. “How do we know you’re worth twenty gold coins? We’ve never even seen you in action.”
Mala’s eyes flashed, and she flung a bangled wrist at Lance’s face. When Lance reacted to the blow, she snapped a kick to his groin, grabbed his right wrist when he bent to cover, made a whip-like motion with her hands, and then Lance was lying flat on his back and yelping in pain. She kept the wrist locked, put the toe of her boot against his groin, and leaned forward as Lance arched in agony.
“Never again, gadje,” she said quietly, “question my worth.”
Will was in shock at how fast she had put him down. Lance didn’t apologize, and Will knew he wouldn’t, at least until he cooled off.
Mala released her hold. “Is that a satisfactory demonstration?”
Val nodded once, his face neutral.
“Then as soon as I have my gold, we go to retrieve your weapons. You will wait outside with Allira and your vassals.”
Lance made a choking sound.
Val reached into an inner pocket of his vest, withdrawing ten gold coins. Will hadn’t even seen him stash them. “Half now, half upon completion,” he said, handing the coins to Mala.
The corners of her mouth lifted in approval. “Agreed.”
-13-
Mala made everyone file in behind her as she led the party through a twisting series of alleys and byways. Allira brought up the rear, after tying on a rope belt strung with a bulky satchel and a dozen smaller pouches.
Once away from the orb-lined streets, the darkness was broken only by a few torch lit dwellings and faint ambient light from the spires. Far more alleys and side streets snaked behind the main roads than back home, and Will wrinkled his nose at the smell of refuse emanating from the murky, mud-filled back passages.
Caleb seemed subdued, Val’s head was on a swivel, and the last time Will had looked, Lance was clutching his war hammer in both hands, mouth tight and eyes focused.
As for Will, even the constant buzz of mosquitoes wasn’t enough to distract him from his growing sense of panic. The knife wound in his side was a terrifying reminder of the dangers this world posed, and unlike the last fight, which had started and ended too fast for a panic attack to hit, Will now had time to dwell on where they were headed, how unprepared they were, and what might happen when they got there. The knowledge made his mouth go dry and his
heart thump against his chest.
In front of him, Mala’s wavy black braid reached halfway to her narrow waist. She had the walk of a predator, stalking forward with grace and intent. Yet despite the demonstration she had given, Will wondered what she planned to do against three armed men. It wasn’t like any of them, with the possible exception of Lance, would be of any help.
Will had to get his mind off the pressure building inside him. “So Mala, do you know these men who attacked us?”
“Swords for hire,” she said.
The bubble of pressure expanded. “You mean mercenaries?”
Mala clucked at his alarm. “These particular mercenaries drink and carouse far more than they fight. They scour the streets for easy targets—such as yourselves.”
“How do you know where to find them?” Val asked.
“They’ve been in the city a few weeks, drinking at the Minotaur’s Den. The barkeep has no love for their boasting, and told me where they were staying. I suspect they’re still spending what they pilfered. If so, we wait until they return.”
None of this helped Will’s state of mind, and he scrambled for something to say. “I don’t suppose the owner is a real Minotaur?” he joked.
God, he sounded stupid.
“Where is it you call home?” Mala said.
“Alaska,” Val said, giving Will a glance that said no more.
“I’ve never heard of such a place.”
“It’s far to the north,” Val continued.
“In New Albion?”
“As north as the first glaciers.”
“Far indeed,” she murmured.
Will couldn’t tell by her tone if she believed Val or not. He was guessing not.
“There exists more than one minotaur,” she continued, and Will got the feeling that, like Val, most everything that came out of her mouth was calculated. “The Wizard-King of Crete created the original, but others roam the Mediterranean basin.”
Will tried to hide his shock both that Minotaurs were real in this world, and that someone had apparently made the first one. “Created?”
“King Minos was a Menagerist, of course,” she said.
Val was giving him a venomous look, but Will couldn’t help himself. He had to know more about this world. “Have you seen one?”
Mala turned and looked at him, her eyes twin lavender marbles. “I’ve killed one.”
She said it without hint of jest or boast, the playfulness gone, and Will swallowed hard.
Enough questions for now.
As they crossed Napoleon Avenue, Will’s eyes widened. A principal Uptown artery, this world’s version was lined with even more grandiose homes than back home. He noticed the same eclectic mix of architectural styles, and a few houses whose unusual designs reminded him of some of the spired buildings.
“This is unbelievable,” Caleb murmured. “It’s more New Orleans than New Orleans.”
As they approached a cross-alley, Mala gathered them close. “The rear entrance to the hostel we seek lies at the end of this snicket. Allira will remain with you here.”
“Thanks,” Will said, relieved they wouldn’t be left alone. Allira moved to the front, positioning herself to see in all four directions.
“She’s not leaving Allira behind out of altruism,” Val said dryly, causing Mala to smirk. “She’s protecting her investment.”
“How many do you expect?” Lance asked.
“Two or three,” Mala said.
“Shouldn’t I go with you?”
She laughed and didn’t bother to respond. Curiously, she removed her turquoise sash and held it in one hand as she started down the alley. Moments later, Will heard the sound of a door opening, then footsteps and rough voices.
“Bloody hell,” Mala said.
Will peered into the darkness. “What?”
“Stay,” she hissed, then moved swiftly forward. Moments later, Will saw the three thugs from the pub emerge out of the shadows thirty feet past Mala, walking in her direction—with five more men behind them.
The leader was carrying Will’s sword, another had Val’s staff. Will cursed and felt a lump form in his stomach, expanding upwards to constrict his air flow. Should they run?
Lance tensed beside him, and Caleb’s drawn face and bulging eyes evidenced the fear Will felt. Val’s jaw tightened as he watched the scene unfold. Allira pulled a painted boomerang from her satchel, twirling it around her fingers.
“What do we do?” Val whispered to Allira. She laid a hand on his arm in response.
One of the men pointed at Mala. “What now? A wee lone lassie in the middle of the night? You ’eard about our gold and y’er thinkin’ to join the party, are ye? We’ve got a’plenty for the sweet likes o’ you.”
Mala stopped fifteen feet from the men. “I came for the sword and the wizard’s staff you stole.”
“I told ye it were a wizard’s staff,” another man in front muttered. “We should’ve left it.”
“Shut yer fat gob, Broc,” a third said.
“And I came to ask for Queen Victoria’s hand,” the first mercenary said, taking a step towards Mala. “I don’t s’pose either of us be gettin’ what we want tonight.”
Broc pointed past Mala. “The wizard’s with ’er!”
“’E’s no wizard, you knob, or we wouldn’t be standing ’ere right now. He stole the staff just like we did.”
“The wizard’s not your worry,” Mala said, and began twirling the four-foot length of ribbon.
The sash must have been weighted at the ends, because it gathered speed quickly, emitting a low humming sound as it became a blur whirring through the air at Mala’s side.
The first man’s voice was mocking. “Is that so, lassie?” He snapped his fingers above his head. “Let’s finish this and be gone.”
Everything happened at once. The speed and brutality of actual combat shocked Will: all eight men drawing their weapons and surging down the alley with a roar, Mala letting her sash fly at the same time Will heard a whizzing sound in his ear and saw a boomerang spin through the air and drop one of the men like a bowling pin.
Mala’s sash flew into the face of the lead man, the weighted ends of the fabric wrapping around his head like a tightening tether ball, gathering momentum and then smashing into his skull with a sickening crunch.
One of the men whipped a dagger into their midst. Caleb threw his hands up in self-defense, and the dagger shattered on his bracers. Will didn’t have time to marvel at that, because Lance was yelling and shaking his war hammer, and Val was shouting at Will and Caleb to get behind Lance. Will had never felt so helpless.
Mala reached back and unsheathed her short sword in a fluid motion, her other hand whipping into a pouch and hurtling something at one of the men. There was a crack and a flash, and the man’s head burst into flame. The next attacker yelled and swung an axe at Mala’s head. She stepped under the blow and slid behind the man, disemboweling him with a slash so quick Will could barely follow it. She kicked the falling body off her sword.
The first four went down in seconds, but the other four had already passed Mala and hadn’t witnessed the fate of their companions. Another boomerang cracked into one of the attackers, felling him, and then the other three were on them, shrieking, weapons raised and faces twisted in battle fury. Allira used yet another boomerang as a hand-to-hand weapon as she and Lance clashed with two of the attackers, but Will and his brothers had no chance to avoid the final assailant, a muscled brute wielding a two-handed sword. An erupting volcano of fear and adrenaline overcame Will as the man brought the sword down over his head.
On instinct, and out of sheer desperation, Will rushed the man bare-handed and caught him off-guard, before he could complete his swing. Will had been an all-district wrestler in high-school, and had taken a few months of Kung Fu. He had also attended a slew of weaponry seminars at Medieval Nights.
None of it mattered. In fact, as he grasped onto the man’s wrists with every ounce of terrifi
ed strength he possessed, Will had no rational thought at all, other than a paralyzing certainty that if he let go, he and his brothers would die. Val tried to come at the man from the side, but the mercenary executed a side kick that sent him crashing into the wall.
The brute lifted Will straight into the air, then kneed him in the groin. Will roared in pain but didn’t let go. The man wrenched the sword back and forth, shaking Will like a dog’s chew toy. Still Will kept his grip. He could smell the mercenary’s rancid body-odor, hear the rasp of his breath, taste the beads of salty sweat flicking off his face.
The man head-butted Will in the side of the head. A ringing sound erupted inside Will’s skull, and flashes of light filled his vision. He tried to hold on, but the mercenary finally ripped his wrists out of Will’s grasp, whisked the sword above his head, and stepped forward for the killing blow.
Will cringed and fell backwards, sure he was going to die. He threw his hands in front of his face, but the sword clanged to the ground, and its wielder pitched forward on top of Will. Will scrambled to push him off, and the huge man ended up crumpled on his side, a curved dagger embedded in his spine. He was twitching violently.
Mala reached down to extract her dagger from the man’s back, then slid it across his throat. Will looked away as the man gurgled his last few breaths.
Lance and Allira stood above two mercenaries with heads like squashed pumpkins. Allira was holding a boomerang dripping blood, and Lance was gripping his gore-streaked hammer. He looked frighteningly calm.
Caleb stood behind them with a wild look in his eyes. Will whirled to his right and saw Val easing to a sitting position, wincing as he held his ribcage.
Satisfied his people were okay, Will leaned over and vomited his entire dinner, then started to hyperventilate.
Mala stared down at Will as she retied her sash. Her expression was blank, but Will could feel the pity oozing out of her.
Will tried to croak that he was fine, but nothing came out. Allira laid her hands on Will in various places, peered into his eyes, felt his pulse, then gave a half-shrug and started applying more salve to his knife wound, which had started burning again.
