“It’s me, Keth.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Me. Marius. It’s me.”
Keth stared at him, doubt in every angle. “You’re Marius?”
Marius nodded. “Back of the left knee, about half an inch up, never fails.”
“Oh, God.” Keth sank into her seat, stretched out her arms across the table. Marius reached out gloved hands, and she squeezed them between her strong, warm fingers. “Marius. What happened?”
“You don’t want to see the worst of it, Keth. I’m in real trouble this time.”
“What is it, sweetheart? Is it fire? I’ve seen men after fires. Pox? Spear wounds? Come on, sweetie, I’ve seen it all. You can show me.” With a quick movement she slipped the fingers of her left hand down to the end of his glove and tensed. Marius, realizing what she was about to do, pulled away. It was too late. His arm came backwards. The glove stayed where it was. He and Keth stared down at his exposed hand. Keth swallowed.
“Pull your hood back, sweetheart, won’t you?”
“Keth…”
“Just do it, Marius. Please?”
Slowly, Marius reached up and touched the hem of his cloak.
“Please, Keth. I don’t want you to scream, or be frightened. I don’t want you see this.”
“I’ll be fine, Marius. Please. I have to see it.”
Marius pulled back his hood. Keth didn’t scream, or faint, or beg him to stop. She simply took in his features, her face a mask of blankness, for five or six heartbeats. When she spoke, her voice was very careful, and calm, and very neutral, as if she were speaking to an intruder with a knife.
“Okay, then. Perhaps you’d better put it back over yourself, love. Just in case. Best not scare the customers.”
Marius replaced his hood and sank further into his seat. They sat that way for long moments. Marius peered at Keth from the safety of the hood’s depths. She stared at him, her teeth working hard against her upper lip, then her lower, and back to her upper. Finally she reached across, pulled the tankard towards her, and took a moderate sized pull.
“So,” she said when she had recovered her breath.
“So.”
“This is why you haven’t come back before now?” She giggled, then cut it off quickly. They could both hear the panic.
“I almost had it,” Marius said, his gaze falling to the table. “One more time, maybe two.” He shrugged, stared at the table. “Maybe three. Then I’d have enough, and I’d be back, and we’d have enough, and it would all be…” he trailed off, waved his hand limply at nowhere in particular.
“No, you wouldn’t.” Keth smiled sadly. “That’s not you, is it? We’ve learned that.”
“No. I guess not.”
“It’s bad, though, isn’t it? Really bad.”
“Keth.” Marius held up his hand, turned it so she could see both sides. “I think I’m dead.” He picked up the glove and put it back on. “I need to get away.”
“Sweetheart, how can you be dead? You’re walking, and talking, and…” she stared at him, stared at his chest. “Oh, God. You’re not breathing, are you?”
“I need passage, Keth. On a boat, a good sized one, headed to the Far Isles. Something big enough that I can rent a cabin with some privacy.”
“But…”
“You know who’s in and who’s going out. You can find me one. Here.” He reached into his pockets, pulled out his remaining coins. “Take it. That’ll be enough to reserve the cabin. Get a price. I’ll have the rest by the time we ship.”
“Shit.” Keth swept the money into her skirt, fumbled about under the table for a moment, then stood, the money nowhere in sight. “What are you trying to do, waving money about like that? Trying to get us both…” She stopped, raised her hand to her mouth. “I’ll… I’ll try.” She turned away from him, took a step, turned back. “Have you a place?”
“No. Not yet. I…”
“I’m on the second floor. At the end.” She fumbled in her apron, withdrew a key and tossed it on the table. “I’ll be off in a couple of hours.” She nodded at the tankard and the roll. “Take those. No sense in letting them go to waste. I’ve got… I’ve got to go.” She backed away, and pushed through the crowd. In a moment, she was lost to view.
Marius stared at the spot where she had been for countless seconds. Then, slowly, he reached out and gathered the key. He stood, took the food from the table, and sidled towards the staircase at the back of the room.
At the top of the stairs, a short mezzanine led into a dark, sweaty-smelling corridor that ran the length of the building. Sconces lined the walls between anonymous, un-numbered doors. Most of them bore scorch marks above, from where drunken tenants had stumbled and spat, or worse, upon them. Sailors, especially drunk ones, aren’t picky about their surroundings. A pillow to rest their head and a pot to piss in on the floor as all they generally required, and as long as they stayed sober enough to tell the difference, they were happy. Marius had seen worse dockside rents – at least these had their doors on. Anyone who cared to complain about the dirt and the generally seedy air was either a stranger or still sober.
There was one exception. At the far end, directly facing him, a white-painted door with lit sconces at either side stood out like a princess in workhouse. A garland of dried flowers hung from a nail, and a circle of spotlessness surrounded it where the walls had been washed and the wooden floor swept free of dirt and dead insects. Marius snorted in recognition and strode towards it. The key fit on the first attempt, and he noted the absence of scratch marks around the hole. Whatever else may be said about them, the clientele of the Hauled Keel had obviously paid attention when warned to leave this room alone. The door swung inwards on oiled hinges, and Marius stepped through.
Inside, the room was clean, but little more. Marius closed the door behind him, made his way across to the dim outline of the bed, and found a lamp sitting upon a table next to it, a pack of lucifers at its base. He lit the lamp, then picked it up and used it to light three others at strategic points around the room. Once a modicum of visibility had been established he made his way to the single chair beneath the window, moved the neatly folded clothes onto the bed, and sat, throwing back his hood and running his fingers through his hair in relief. Only then did he take the time to thoroughly examine his surroundings.
Keth had tried, Marius could see that. Somewhere along the line, for whatever reason, she had decided to really try to make a home here. Nothing around him was new. The single bed sagged in the middle and the wood frame was bowed and warped from years, maybe decades, of water-rich air. But she had piled pillows and blankets upon it, and perhaps the thickness of the padding made up for the shape. Those blankets, and the clothes he had moved from the chair, were clean. Perhaps not freshly laundered, but certainly more recently than the once-a-fortnight swish through a bathtub of cold water that most bedding received in an establishment like the Hauled Keel. The trunk at the bed’s end had been old and battered when Marius had given it to her, but the clasp and hinges were new, and the designs she had painted upon it, flowers and berries on a vine, had been carefully applied. The tiny table and mirror she used as a dresser were uneven, one leg straightened up with a piece of wood, and the mirror itself had a long stain down one side where the silvered backing had tarnished. But everything was neat and orderly, and such toiletries that lay alongside the metal trough in the corner were newly purchased. More dried flowers, siblings to the bunch on the front door, were nailed to the walls, and from somewhere, the Gods only knew where, she had found a small painting of the Berries Veldt and hung it above the bed head. The overall impression was of care, and a determination to feel at home, and the whole thing saddened Marius more than he cared to admit. He felt out of place in his stolen cape and rotting skin, like leaves blown onto a freshly swept floor, just waiting for someone to notice and push him back out into the gutter. He got up, placed the tankard and spiced roll on the lid of the trunk, and returned to his seat to wait
.
Taverns like the Hauled Keel never really close. At best, there is a short gap between one shift of clients reeling away to their beds or the street, and the next lot coming in from their boats or shift at the workhouses and piers to eat, drink, and raise the right level of noise to help forget their lives. The serving girls work long hours, longer than their customers can drink. Then they have to clean up afterwards, sweep away the butt ends and pipe tailings, mop up the spilled beer and vomit, push the last complaining drunkard out the door and point him in the direction of wherever he’s calling home that day. Only then can the takings be tallied, wages apportioned, and each girl find her own way to bed. Keth was luckier than most – a flight of stairs is a short journey compared to many. Even so, when she pushed the door open and slipped inside, the lines of her body were heavy with fatigue. Marius watched as she slipped off her slippers and knelt to splash water over her face. She glanced at him and he, taking the hint, vacated the chair.
“I spoke to a fellow just in off a trader,” she said, settling into the chair and sighing. “It looks like the very job for you. Be a love.” She pointed to the food on the trunk. Marius retrieved it and passed it over. She bit into the roll, followed it with a sip of Krehmlager, and sighed. “Fresh.”
“What did he say?”
“He’s serving on a fifty ton barque called the Minerva. They’ve been docked three days, taking on supplies for a run to the Faraway Islands. Reckons they’ll be out three, maybe four months, then as many back, trading iron and cloth for the usual stuff. They’re waiting for the right tides, but he’s due back on board in the morning so he thinks they’ll be off in no more than two days. They’ve got cabins.”
“What type?”
“Are you fussy, now?”
Marius shrugged, abashed. “No, of course not. Just so long as they’re private.”
“They will be. As private as you’ll get on a working boat.” She bit into the roll again and swallowed. “When did you last eat?”
“I don’t need to eat.”
She looked at him for several seconds. “I don’t need to cuddle, but it’s still nice every now and again. Have some.” She offered the tankard and roll. Marius hesitated, and she shook them slightly. “To be polite, if nothing else.”
Marius took them, bit into the roll and followed it with a mouthful of the lager. They tasted… nice. He blinked, swallowed, and took another bite and drink.
“Hey! Save some for a worker.”
Marius twitched, then handed them back. “Sorry. I… I don’t understand. I could taste them.”
“Don’t look at me. It’s your story.” Keth eyed him up and down. “It’s done you the world of good. You look better. Not, you know, you, but better.”
Marius snuck a glance in the mirror. Keth was right. He did look better. Not himself, no, not alive, but less… deadish. A hint of animation around the eyes, maybe. A touch of colour at the edges of his lips. “I don’t understand this at all. Gerd said…”
“Gerd?”
“A… companion. Guard dog, more like.”
“And is he dead?”
Marius smiled. The face in the mirror drew its lips up into a rictus. “We’re everywhere, don’t you know?” He grabbed the tankard from Keth, took a swallow, handed it back. “So what now?”
“Well it’s only a one person bed.”
“That never bothered you before.”
“You were a person.”
He snorted. “Fair point. I don’t need to sleep…” He caught himself. “Or cuddle.”
Keth laughed, then levered herself out of the chair. “Well, I need to wash and lie down. You can go out into the hallway for five minutes or you can promise not to look. What will it be?”
Marius placed his hand over the still skin of his heart. “I promise.”
“Liar.” She smiled and knelt down in front of the pail. “Go on. Turn around.”
Marius turned and faced the simple drapes over the window. There was a slither of clothing, and then splashing as Keth performed her ablutions. Marius resisted peeking, and tried not to remember how she looked naked. Not that such thoughts would do him any good now, anyway, he thought. Better to stay away from them. He did not need to add a lack of reaction to a naked woman to all the other signs of his continuing death.
“Tell me about this place,” he said in order to give himself something else to think about. “Why all the effort?”
“It’s mine.”
“I know that. But why go to all this trouble? Surely when you move on–”
“No.” Marius heard Keth climb into bed, and risked turning round. Only her face was in view, her long hair brushed out of its braids and spread out over the blankets. If Marius could have cried, the lack of stirring in his groin would have driven him to it. “You’re not listening. It’s mine. I own this room.”
“But…”
“I bought it from the Waldens six months ago. They’re the managers. Everything in here.” A long white arm emerged from the beneath the sheet and waved at their surroundings. Marius stared at the arm, and waited for a sign from below. Nothing. God damn it. “I own it.”
“What? You mean forever?”
Keth giggled. “Maybe. Or maybe not. I don’t know.”
“But why…?” Marius looked around at the dismal collection of furniture, the sad little decorations, the desperate attempts to add dignity to what looked like nothing more than a collection of cast offs.
“Because I can.” Keth sat up, a flush of anger spreading across her skin. The blanket fell away, exposing her body down to the waist, but Keth was too angry to notice. Marius did, and almost smiled. Not so dead after all. But Keth was biting out words, and he realised there was nothing to smile about at all. “Do you have any idea how hard it’s been to get all this? To convince someone to sell me even this lot, never mind this fucking room? Because I’m a woman, in this city? Do you have any concept how precious it is to know I can finish my shift and come home, safely, to somewhere that belongs to me? A woman, in this city, owning anything? Do you have any idea how hard I’ve worked for this? Don’t you dare look down on what I have, Marius dos Hellespont.”
“Helles.”
“Don’t you Helles me, merchant’s son. You don’t have to scrabble for what you want. You’ve always had a choice.”
“But… you could have–”
“Could have what?” Keth glanced down at how she was sitting, and gathered the blankets about her. “What, Marius? Waited for you? Been kept by you? How was that ever going to work?”
“But I…” Marius turned away from her in confusion, saw the tankard and picked it up. “I could have given you better than this.”
“God damn it, you don’t understand a thing. It’s not the having, Marius. It’s not even the money. Look at all this. Look at it.” She gathered up a handful of blanket and shook it at him. “I own this. It doesn’t matter what it looks like, or that it’s not made of velvet or smells of lavender. It’s mine. I have it, and nobody can take it away from me. Everything in this room. This room. Do you know how many women own even a room in this city, for themselves? It’s not about money, Marius. It never was. I can work, and own things, and have my own life.”
Marius stared at her, saw the pride in her eyes, and the anger. And the words came before he had time to regret them, and realise what he was placing between them.
“How much of it did you earn on your back?”
She stared at him for longer than he could bear. When she spoke, she did so quietly, and her voice was the deadest thing in the room.
“Get out, Marius. Get out of my home.”
There was nothing he could say. Marius walked to the door, opened it, and made sure to shut it behind him. He stood a moment, waiting. She hadn’t even cried. Marius hung his head and walked back down the hallway, away from Keth. He was at the top of the stairs before he remembered to pull his hood back over his head. It was only when it struck him on the face that he discovered
he was still holding the tankard.
“Ow.” He rubbed the spot where the tankard had hit, looked at it, and then took a long, deep draught. There was no taste at all. Marius stared at it, then let it drop to the floor. “Fuck.”
He was halfway down the steps before he doubled over and threw up.
NINE
Marius left the tavern at a flat run, burst out onto the street past startled onlookers, and just as suddenly as he had appeared, stopped, looking about himself in panic. The mouth of an alleyway stood between the corner of the tavern and the next building over. Marius couldn’t go back inside, not after the reception his vomiting episode had received from the patrons. Besides, what would be the point? Keth had already ignored his entreaties from outside her door. Knocking would hardly change her mind. But her window had been open. Could she ignore his voice through it? At the very least, she would have to leave her bed to close it, and then… Marius wasn’t sure what would happen then. But something had happened in that room, something that had opened a gulf between them and left him vomiting in an undeniably alive way after half a tankard of Krehmlager. He could still taste his bile, even though he knew the dead could neither taste nor regurgitate. He raced for the corner, turned into the alley, and sloshed through ankle-deep mud until he stood below the window of Keth’s room, staring up at the gap between the open shutters.
“Keth.” He waited, but no response came. He looked about, back towards the busy street. Nobody had stopped to see what the solitary figure was doing, standing alone in an alley, shouting. “Keth.” Louder now, a little more insistent, just a little panicked. “Keth, please!”
Again he waited, and again there was nothing. Marius began to worry. What if Keth held the solution to his dilemma? What if she was the key to everything, and he had thrown her away in his fit of pique? What if his only chance at life had lain in that room, and now, with a few words, he had placed it forever beyond his reach?
“Keth!” This time, the only sound that emerged was panic.
ARC: The Corpse-Rat King Page 8
