Infernal Machines

by Jacobs, John Hornor

  ‘I have been in the service of Rume, filling their shells and casings with Hellfire, since before you were born, Madame,’ Black Donald said.

  Fisk turned to him. ‘If you wish to remain in Rume’s service, I expect you to follow the chain of command, then. Were you issued a direct order from a superior?’

  Black Donald set down his cup. His face had the blank, white non-expression of fury. There is nothing as painful and fragile as a man whose pride suffers a blow, and Black Donald was no different. He stood, walked stiffly from the tent without another word.

  When he was gone, Sapientia laughed and Samantha joined in.

  ‘He’s a good worker,’ Sapientia said. ‘But I know him of old and if you don’t take him in hand quickly, he’ll run roughshod all over you.’

  ‘He’ll have his plans in the morning, no doubt,’ Samantha said.

  ‘And they’ll be immaculate. He’s a talented engineer – a great craftsman,’ Sapientia said. ‘Come tomorrow, I will praise him to the heavens and he will roll over and want me to scratch his belly, tail between his legs.’ She grinned again. ‘It is not only the daemons that require rituals,’ she said, and winked at me.

  Fisk introduced the engineers to Neruda and Praeverta. Winfried, they were both acquainted with. He bid us all to sit and take food and for a long while, we discussed events, the great winds blowing in the larger world. The destruction of Rume, the state of Medieran troops in the West.

  ‘Scouts, then,’ Fisk said to me. ‘No sign?’

  ‘None. They were to ride to the Big Rill, split up, keep their distance. Pose as fleeing sodbusters if stopped by the Medierans.’

  ‘And the situation in Passasuego?’ Fisk asked, looking to Sapientia and Samantha. He might not even consciously be doing it, but he’d turned a reunion into a debrief quite easily.

  ‘We fled before they took it. But it was said they had three thousand garrisoned at Hot Springs, and seven thousand now roost on the pink nest of Passasuego. The White River teemed with refugees on anything they could find that would float,’ Samantha added.

  ‘They’re digging in,’ Fisk said, frowning. ‘They have their foothold. Now they’ll move east.’

  ‘Apparently the battle for Passasuego left the Medieran commander, Aveda, enraged and his men demoralised, but how or why was not apparent,’ Samantha said. ‘I can only hazard a conjecture – the city is well fortified, and well munitioned. The Medierans must have had trouble taking it.’

  ‘There were plans to blow the mine, should the city be taken,’ Sapientia said. ‘Though I don’t know if that occurred.’

  ‘I hope they haven’t blown it,’ I said, scratching my beard. ‘It’d put us in a more desperate position. They’ll be looking east sooner, rather than later. And we have shitloads of work to do to be ready.’

  ‘Our mine gives its gift of silver plentifully,’ Neruda said, holding open his hands as if giving a benediction. ‘But we must do three things, and do them quickly – fortify this valley and prepare for attack, construct a working smelt, and build a munitions production line. Very, very quickly,’ Neruda said, softly. ‘My people can assist and raise buildings in days, but we cannot raise daemons or etch wardings.’

  ‘We have many junior engineers ready for work,’ Samantha said. ‘And Black Donald has his munitioners.’

  ‘It appears that we each have our roles and we know what needs to be done,’ Fisk said. ‘Black Donald, the smelt and munitions. Neruda and your people, mining ore and construction.’ He looked at the map on the table. ‘That leaves fortifications. And that will fall to me and my legions.’ His brow furrowed.

  ‘Maybe not wholly, pard,’ I said. Fisk looked at me. ‘Sapientia reminded me of it.’ I turned to the chief engineer. ‘What was that great ward in the atrium of the engineers’ college in Passaseugo? A pellum, was it called?’

  Her expression brightened. ‘Yes! It was,’ she said.

  ‘You said no daemon nor daemon-gripped could pass one, without being cast out,’ I said. ‘Is that right?’

  ‘Yes, but what you’re suggesting—’

  ‘Is there a ward that lets them in, but doesn’t let ’em leave?’ I asked.

  Sapientia looked at Samantha and raised an eyebrow. ‘No there isn’t, but—’

  ‘I have been experimenting some, since we’ve had the corpse of the Grantham woman,’ Samantha said. At Neruda and Praeverta’s questioning looks, she explained the events that had occurred at the Pynchon. ‘And it’s possible that if Sapientia and I work together, we might be able to craft a new ward.’ She looked thoughtful. ‘And we might have help.’

  Samantha looked to me.

  ‘Beleth,’ I said.

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘Gods damn him,’ I said. ‘He’ll do nothing but trick and try to manipulate you.’

  ‘I know him, Shoe,’ Samantha said. ‘I know all his wiles.’

  ‘Keep telling yourself that. But you don’t. Every single time we’ve gone up against him, he’s surprised us,’ I said.

  Fisk held up a hand. ‘You think you can get useful information from him?’

  ‘Maybe,’ Samantha said. ‘Can’t hurt to try.’

  ‘If you can’t, then it will be time for his end,’ he said. ‘He must pay for his crimes. Rume is no more, Tamberlaine is out of communication though perhaps alive. Marcellus has gone east. It is my decision. Get from him what information you can. Create this new ward. We will give you all the silver and assistance you need to execute. You three shall be my agents in this and—’ He snapped his fingers. A secretary scrambled up. ‘I shall have orders drawn up for your authority. And Beleth’s execution.’

  Samantha bowed.

  ‘I believe we’re done here, then,’ Fisk said. ‘I need to confer with my legates, optios, and centurions regarding fortifications. Shoe, you’ll take them to Beleth?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  ‘You are dismissed, then,’ Fisk said, and turned back to his maps.

  The engineer retinue had been assigned two empty contubernium tents and they spent an hour at ablutions and rest and preparing for their encounter with Beleth. The Grenthvar gave up its nightly mist, the sky dark, starless, the fires from the legions throwing up a yellow glow on the belly of the clouds hanging low over the valley.

  When Sam and Sapientia were ready – they had washed the trail dirt from their faces and changed into clean garb – I led them to the shed where Beleth was held, holding a daemonlight lantern high so they wouldn’t lose their footing in the dark. I’d be lying if I said that either woman was wholly calm and collected. Beleth was a force, and one to not be taken lightly.

  ‘He is bound and gagged,’ I said.

  ‘For weeks? Do you fear that he might perish from the circumstances of his capture?’ Sapientia said.

  ‘His hand’s healed up fine, and I ungag and walk him about, late at night, where he can’t poison anyone with his words.’ I shrugged. ‘But do I care if he dies? No.’

  Samantha nodded, looking at me with a taut expression on her face. Sapientia straightened her tunic and smoothed her hair.

  ‘All right, then,’ I said. ‘Give me a moment to make him presentable, empty his night soil. And then we’ll get you reacquainted.’ I opened the door and went in.

  He was awake and looking at me with bright eyes from the dirty pallet I’d made for him from old horse blankets.

  ‘You have visitors, Mister Beleth.’ Hooking him under his armpits, I hoisted him up and helped him to vacate his bowels and bladder in the bucket. I then took the bucket out and emptied it in the latrine and led the engineers inside the hut.

  I removed the bit from his mouth. He worked his jaws, back and forth, and then smiled, lips cracked, broken, and bleeding.

  ‘Pardon his smell,’ I said. ‘His outsides are beginning to resemble his insides.’

  ‘The droll dwarf,’ Beleth croaked. ‘Ah, Samantha! You’ve returned to me, at last. Strike off these ropes and set me free. Together we wi
ll ride from here and create great works.’

  Samantha said nothing. She squatted on her hams in front of her former master, her big hands hanging off her knees, between her legs, like a farmer inspecting his crops.

  ‘You’ve withered, Sam,’ Beleth said. ‘You were fat and happy in my employ. Now you look as though you’ve got the wasting sickness.’

  My wife, Illina, had died of that sickness. It was not something to bandy about. I walloped Beleth across the jaw.

  ‘You see?’ Beleth crowed. ‘How the little monstrosity treats me? Cut my bonds. Let us go and have wine and discuss things over dinner, as we once did.’

  Samantha remained quiet for a long while, looking closely at the bound engineer.

  ‘Keep him bound,’ she said. ‘And bring him to our tent. I need more light and the table there.’

  I jerked the engineer to his feet and dragged him forth. Once he was in the tent, Sapientia unshuttered many daemonlight lanterns, so that the tent was as bright as noon. Samantha looked at me. ‘He does stink. Water and soap?’

  In moments, I had retrieved a bucket with a cake of lye soap and some rags.

  Samantha and Sapientia were tying on scorched leather aprons when I re-entered the tent. Beleth was laid upon the work table, face up.

  ‘Had you wanted me supine, I would’ve done so for you, long ago. I had no idea you harboured such feelings for me, Samantha. I would have been happy to satisfy you, when you were my apprentice.’ He leered at Sapientia. ‘It was always rumoured that you warmed Cassius’ bed, when you were his apprentice.’

  Sapientia’s face froze and some of the colour drained from it. Samantha withdrew a pair of shears. I jammed one of the rags halfway down Beleth’s throat.

  Samantha cut his clothing away, revealing his naked form. He had lost weight, too, and his flesh hung loosely off him. His skin was discoloured, deeply bruised around the bindings, and filthy from weeks without any sort of bath, except my treatment of his stump.

  ‘Beleth,’ Samantha said. ‘Sadly, I do not have in my possession a torturer’s board like that you used to such effect on Agrippina. Would that I did. But this table will have to suffice.’

  The engineers took the bucket of water and cleaned Beleth, from toes to the top of his head, with soap, water, and rags. The water ran brown by the time they were through.

  His body was a litany of pain writ in wards. Some pink and aggravated, newer, some ancient. The scarred warding began at his ankles and rose up his legs, covered his stomach and stopped at his chest.

  ‘Look,’ Sapientia said to Sam. ‘None on his back, nor the backs of his arms.’

  ‘Or what’s left of his right arm at all,’ I said. ‘He did this all to himself.’

  Samantha gave a grim smile. ‘It’s a good thing Fisk snipped his right arm, then,’ she said. ‘Otherwise, our friend might still be practising the craft.’

  ‘No chance of that any more,’ Sapientia said. ‘Look here, the corpus locus glyph that he used to cast himself into the poor Grantham woman in Passasuego.’

  Samantha dipped a rag into the soapy water and wiped at the scarring that Sapientia indicated. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘There’s the corpus locus glyph, and Grantham’s full name.’ She continued examining the rest of him. ‘He really was quite innovative in his creation of wards.’

  ‘Look for a new one,’ I said. ‘Right there. He put himself in Gynth,’ I said.

  ‘Ah, your tame stretcher,’ Samantha said.

  ‘He’s not tame, nor is he mine. But I would count him as a friend,’ I said. ‘He’s saved me thrice.’

  ‘Fascinating,’ Samantha said. ‘First Fisk has softened and risen high, and now you, bosom friends with a stretcher.’ She shrugged, turned back to Beleth’s still form. ‘This ward has been marred, and marred deeply,’ she said. ‘It’s been burned.’

  ‘That’s strange,’ I said. ‘I cut the glyph on Gynth to release him. Beleth rode him like a horse.’

  ‘Can we see it?’ Sapientia asked. ‘Can you bring him here?’

  ‘I can try. Give me a little bit,’ I said.

  Walking out, it took a little while for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. The tent behind me glowed like a paper lantern. I went to the fire outside my dwelling. In the distance, I could hear legionnaires singing songs of battle and laughing, the glow from hundreds of other fires sending sparks into the heavens in recursive paths, the scent of auroch and garum, charcoal and sweetgrass and sage on the wind. The breath and murmur of a Ruman camp at night.

  Catch Hands sat near the fire and stirred a squirrel and potato stew outside my tent. ‘Gynth,’ I said. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘A-roamin,’ Catch Hands said. ‘What’s he usually doin’?’

  ‘Roaming, I guess,’ I said. ‘I’ve got a bottle for you if you could run him down before third nocturn and bring him to the new engineers’ tents.’

  ‘New engineers?’

  ‘You haven’t heard?’ I asked.

  ‘I’ve heard plenty. But I want to know for sure,’ Catch Hands said.

  ‘Engineers have arrived,’ I said. I didn’t intend to play this game. ‘Content yourself with that. Go introduce yourself.’

  Catch Hands jumped up, dusted off his britches, and with both hands grabbed his beard, smoothed it.

  ‘No promises. But if I can, I will,’ he said, and tromped off, to the east, up into the pines and gambels of the Eldvatch. ‘Afterwards, we’ll see about the introductions,’ he called over his shoulder.

  I returned to the engineers’ tent. ‘Gynth is gone roaming. But he’ll be back soon.’

  Samantha gave a terse nod and Sapientia ignored the interruption; she wiped at Beleth’s leg with a soapy rag.

  ‘He’s been at this for a long while. Look at his legs,’ she said. ‘The knifework is amateurish here.’ She chuckled. ‘It’s shite.’

  Beleth grunted through the rags stuffed in his throat. He thrashed.

  ‘It gets more refined, though,’ Sapientia said. ‘How much did he practise on others to develop his wardwork on himself?’

  ‘I shudder to think,’ Samantha said. ‘He was expert when I became his apprentice.’

  They were quiet for a while, examining his body. ‘It’s this one,’ Sapientia said, indicating his navel. I came closer, to see what she pointed to. The skin was discoloured there, dark lines among the scarring. A larger ward, writ with a scalpel and what appeared to be ink.

  ‘It’s rough,’ Samantha said. ‘And dissimilar from all the others. And is that—?’

  ‘Yes, that is a Tchinee ideogram,’ Sapientia responded. They looked at each other. ‘This complicates things,’ she said.

  ‘It also answers many questions.’ Samantha rubbed her chin. ‘And simplifies the course of action,’ she said. ‘We’ll need a carcere ward for the exorcism. And for the vessel, a stoat?’

  ‘What questions does it answer?’ I asked.

  ‘Did you ever wonder, Shoe, how Beleth might summon a daemon the magnitude of Belial – the one we call the Crimson Man – with such a small precium?’

  ‘Well, no, I hadn’t,’ I said. ‘But now you mention it …’

  ‘He didn’t have to give buckets of blood. He just had to strike a deal with a fellow daemon,’ Samantha said.

  ‘Oh, shit,’ I said.

  ‘Exactly,’ Samantha said. ‘The vessel?’ She turned back to Sapientia.

  ‘Something larger. Something closer to human,’ Sapientia responded. ‘A pig.’

  ‘How appropriate,’ Sam said.

  ‘Hold up, you two,’ I said. ‘An exorcism? Something’s in him?’

  ‘It’s a thought I had, long ago. And now, it is confirmed. Something’s been riding in him for so long, the Beleth we knew might not even have any knowledge of his heinous acts,’ Samantha responded. ‘And we have to get it out.’

  ‘We’ll need a small smelt, charcoal, and an open, unbroken floor or space to create the warding,’ Sapientia said. ‘Can you help with that?’

&nbs
p; I nodded. ‘We’ve sourced good charcoal, and I can take you to a hanging stone. It’s a near-flat rock that juts out over the last of the Hardscrabble – a lookout. A perch.’

  ‘Good,’ Sapientia said. ‘And men to carry him?’

  ‘I can do you one better,’ I said, and moved out of the tent into the night.

  I found Gynth coming down the mountainside with Catch Hands. At some point, Gynth had lost his trousers and was now wandering about with his privates on display, a massive feral hog slung over his shoulder. Blood from the boar ran like a cloak down his back in rivulets.

  I said in dvergar, ‘Go and clean up and put on some clothing. And quickly. I need your help. Catch Hands, take the boar.’

  Gynth shrugged and tottered off, returning shortly with soaking hair, and a leather apron he had fastened around his waist like one of the kilts that Northmen were wont to wear. Blood still drenched his back – you can take the stretcher out of the Hardscrabble but you can’t take the Hardscrabble out of the stretcher.

  I bid him follow me and returned to the tent. The engineers were understandably overwhelmed for a few moments when a bloody, half-nude vaettir suddenly filled their tent – but they recovered quickly.

  ‘Get the draugve,’ I said, using the dvergar word that roughly translates as arsehole.

  Gynth didn’t hesitate – he knew exactly who I meant. With his big, still-bloody hands he snapped Beleth’s bindings and hefted him over his shoulder. He ducked and moved outside, slick as a mink’s prick.

  ‘It’s alarming how smoothly they move, despite their size,’ Sapientia said out of the side of her mouth to Samantha.

  ‘It can get a lot worse, believe me,’ Samantha said.

  From one of Black Donald’s engineer assistants, I commandeered a small porcelain smelt and a hand bellows. From the camp provisioner, a large sack of coal. He had no pigs, but he did have a goat, which I hoped would suffice as a ‘vessel’. After I had secured those things we all trudged north and west for a good piece, watching our footing, as the terrain was somewhat treacherous with loose shale, the roots of pine and gambel crumbling the stone over the years.