Trials of Trass Kathra

by Mike Wild

  “But they’ll see! At the cathedral, they’ll see!”

  “I don’t think so,” the shape said. Slowhand saw the outline of a hand being raised and, simultaneously, the Eyes of the Lord detonated, the resultant shrapnel tearing holes into Beth’s shocked face. But she didn’t suffer. Instead, her head snapped abruptly to the right, neck broken by the same invisible force that had held her aloft, and she dropped to the floor like a stone. Slowhand could feel her body heat already fading beside him.

  The shape trundled closer, revealing itself to be some kind of wheelchair. But a wheelchair built by a madman. Looking like a mobile torture device, tubes with needles wove slowly about its surface, occasionally injecting its occupant with coloured fluids, while bladder like things inflated and deflated, hissing and gurgling with air and water that seemed somehow to sustain him. It was an impossible, nightmare thing, but nowhere near as impossible or nightmarish as the shrivelled figure that was the centre of its attentions. Despite the state of its occupant Slowhand recognised him immediately.

  He hadn’t misheard the name, after all

  It was Fitch.

  Querilous Fitch.

  The psychic manipulator stared down at him, smiled.

  Not long after, Slowhand felt what was left of his bones begin to crack, and he began to scream.

  CHAPTER SIX

  KALI REACHED GRANSK lying on her stomach sandwiched between slices of creev. The thick, blubbery material used to line the hulls of ships for buoyancy did not feel very buoyant, pressing down on her and holding her immobile like the blankets of a tightly made bed. It was damp, hot and stifling between them, and the creev stank so badly she was constantly on the verge of throwing up. It was an urge she’d quelled by snatching swift lungfuls of air through a raised flap of the stuff whenever it had been safe to do so.

  She was denied that luxury now. Her last glimpse of the outside world had been of the cart which carried the creev itself becoming sandwiched between Final Faith wagons, part of a convoy which was forming to snake down the cliff road into Gransk. Just before she’d closed the flap, she’d studied the wagons pulling into line behind her, wondering what the large, cigar-shaped, canvas covered objects they carried were. The only thing she did know was that they were not the only wagons out there. Far from it. Whatever kind of ship Jakub Freel was building here, he seemed to be throwing at it every resource the Final Faith had.

  Kali felt the cart dip beneath her, beginning its descent into the town, and she pictured the scene outside her hiding place.

  Once a small and tranquil fishing community, Gransk had grown into something quite different since the Filth had adopted it as the location for their shipyards. Adding both docks and dry docks for the construction of their coastal clippers and patrol boats, most of the original fisherfolk had over the years been driven away, replaced by a coarser breed of peninsulan labourer who’d stamped their own identity on the town. She’d visited the place on a couple of occasions before now, and while the Filth had found it necessary to garrison a few Swords of Dawn to ensure that the work they commissioned was actually carried out, they had for the most part left the inhabitants to run the town for themselves. Now, though, it seemed to be a different story. From the number of delays, shouts and barked orders Kali heard from beyond the slices of creev, security had been upped considerably. It didn’t take much to figure out by whom, or why.

  The cart came to a stop and Kali was aware of the presence of soldiers gathering about it. She felt a slight lurch as the cart’s driver climbed down, presumably in response to a signal from one of them.

  “Your goods?” a deep but muffled voice enquired.

  “Creev, sir,” the driver responded. Kali was relieved to hear his voice remained calm. He was aware of her presence but there was not a hint of betrayal in his weary tones.

  “Creev? That’s all?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  There was the sharp scrape of a weapon being withdrawn from a scabbard, and then another, and Kali sucked in breath, knowing what was coming. What kind of lunatic they imagined would secrete themselves in this pile of shite she couldn’t imagine, but the guards had clearly been ordered to be thorough.

  She froze as swords thrust into the slices of creev. The blubbery substance deflated and released puffs of noxious gas. She was grateful that the odour was so rank that they were reluctant to make the inspection too thorough. Nonetheless, one or two of the thrusts came too close for comfort and Kali quietly contorted herself each time, like a magician’s assistant inside a sword trap.

  “You’re clear. Papers?”

  A shuffling, and a cough.

  “These seem to be in order. Pondeen’s Maritime is on the western harbourside. Proceed directly there, unload your shipment and then turn your cart around.”

  “Around?” the driver said. “But I intended to stay at the tavern. It’s been a long haul.”

  “Turn it around, old man. Trust me, you don’t want to be in town tonight.”

  Kali frowned, wondering why. The old man questioned the soldiers no further, however, and the cart sank once more as he resumed his position. A clicking of his mouth spurred the horses on.

  Kali remained still, listening to more muffled voices and sounds, not of soldiers this time but the activity of Gransk. The cries of men at work, the shifting of cargo, the screeching of razorgulls as they circled overhead hoping for pickings from the goods being loaded. She did not listen without reason – if she were to slip from her hiding place unnoticed, she’d have to time her move carefully. After a few more minutes of the cart negotiating the narrow streets of the town, the sounds became more mooted and Kali knew that the cart’s driver had steered her to a place of relative inactivity, as requested. Listening again to be certain no one was around, she slithered from between the slices of creev, placed a bag of full gold in his hand, and then vanished into a side alley, from where she intended to get her bearings.

  The other end of the alley opened onto a main thoroughfare. Kali took her squallcoat from her backpack and slipped it on. A sailor’s cap she had procured elsewhere she jammed on her head, the peak lowered to obscure her features. Then she took a breath and, with hands in her pockets and head down, slipped from the alley and joined the throng of people heading towards the dockside.

  The port came alive around her, voices amplified among the packed and overhanging buildings of the streets.

  “Ragfish and jumpo, guv’nor? Two tenths a bag.”

  “Ropes, hawsings, nets!”

  “Hey, sailor, fancy yer chances with Mair behind the crates, do yer? Goworn, you’ll never get the chance out there now, will yer?”

  “Hand over yer purse, lad or... ow! Fark! Pits o’ Kerberos, what d’ya do that for?”

  Kali smiled and lowered her elbow as the grabcoin raced off into the crowd nursing a bloody nose. She ignored all further solicitations, weaving slowly through the crowd. It had been her intention to spend some time listening to gossip, trying to glean information, but where she’d expected the locals to be quite forthcoming considering the amount of work Freel had brought to town, there were surprisingly few mentions of the ship, and these only in hushed tones. Instead, she began to work her way directly to the dockside where she had at least gleaned Freel’s ship was berthed.

  And then stopped.

  The ship had come into view far before she expected it to, a consequence of its size. She could see little detail of it from where she stood but that made it none the less awesome. Made of materials that were almost entirely black, including its sails, it appeared in view like some gigantic wall, towering over the dockside, blotting out the horizon completely, casting a shadow over the lower half of the town. It left no doubt in her mind that this was the place where she would find all the answers she needed.

  “Don’t you go near that ship, young lad,” a voice said suddenly from beside her. “Arsk me, she’s cursed.”

  Kali turned to see a grizzled old seadog. “Cursed?”
<
br />   “Aye, cursed. I’ve seen men carried out o’ the bowels o’ that thing with their flesh rottin’ off ’em, as if they got the worst case o’ the hic there ever was. An’ before I did I heard their screams from inside its hull.”

  “Screams?”

  “Agonised screams. As if their souls had been touched by the devils themselves. An’ that ain’t all...”

  “It isn’t?”

  “Oh, no. I swear to ye, the very instant they rolled that monster outta dry dock an’ into the waters, the ocean boiled. Stay away from ’er, I tell ya. Stay away!”

  Boiled, eh? Kali thought. That was certainly enough to get a girl’s attention.

  She nodded, flipped the seadog a coin, and began to move with renewed determination towards her destination. But she had not got far before her progress was rudely interrupted.

  Her gaze fixed on the looming wall of the ship, she did not notice the sudden kerfuffle in the crowd about her, and the first thing she knew of its cause – something moving at speed out of a side alley – was when that same something barrelled into her so hard she was winded and knocked off her feet. As she thudded unceremoniously onto her backside, Kali cursed her assailant for not even having the good grace to apologise for the collision. Then she realised there was good reason for the omission.

  Three Eyes of the Lord darted out of the alley, spinning about while they re-orientated, and then tore through the air after the figure, which was now half way across the street.

  Kali double-taked on the spheres and the fleeing figure. The first thing she noticed was the Eyes of the Lord’s prey wasn’t so much running as rolling along, the reason for this being that he appeared to have no legs. Instead, he was perched on a small, wheeled platform which he was thrusting along with sweeps of thick and powerfully muscled arms. Kali wondered if he was perhaps a veteran of the Vos-Pontaine war and, like so many, had lost his limbs in one of its horrifying battles. He didn’t look like one, though, when, for a fleeting second, she caught a glimpse of a solid, gnarled face almost wholly obscured by a thick beard which had, of all things, a number of small, tin bells woven into it.

  Her first instinct was to spring upward and help him, but before she could she realised she had problems of her own. Unnoticed until now, her tumble had dislodged her cap from her head and, with it lying a few feet away, her true appearance was revealed to all.

  One of the three spheres stopped dead in its pursuit of its prey, backtracked a few feet, and then darted towards her until it hovered directly in front of her face, staring her, as it were, in the eyes. Kali realised she had only a few seconds before the information it was gathering was processed by the Overseers back at Scholten Cathedral, and then she would have been tracked by the Faith. She leapt up and rid herself of the problem with the only thing that came to hand. Plucking a large fish from where it lay, dull-eyed, on an adjacent stall, Kali held it tightly by the tail, swung it round in an arc and batted the Eye of the Lord hard enough to send it careering through the air. As bits of fish splattered the crowd, the sphere ricocheted off one wall and then another and yet a third before it plummeted, smoking and sparking, through the cloth awning of a stall further up the street, bringing the whole lot down around it.

  “Fore!” Kali shouted.

  Her unique solution to the problem couldn’t help but attract the attention of the other two spheres, and also, for a second, the figure on the wheeled platform, who paused and regarded her curiously. There was no time for introductions, however, as one of the two remaining spheres veered off towards Kali while its partner resumed its pursuit of its original prey.

  Kali cursed – an ancient Drakengrattian powerword that made even the hardened inhabitants of Gransk gasp and step back in shock – reflecting how her plan to clandestinely go about her business had so rapidly turned to shit.

  The Eye of the Lord now in hot pursuit, Kali fled into a side alley running parallel to that taken by the bearded stranger, and as the alley jinked to the right, his must have jinked to the left, because the pair found themselves meeting again, though heading swiftly in opposite directions. A few seconds later, when Kali jinked once more, they were again heading directly towards each other. They nodded as they passed. By the time they encountered each other for a third time, Kali had had enough, but thankfully another plan had popped into mind.

  While she considered it a little unnecessary to shout “duck!” to her fellow escapee, she did so anyway, and then ran right at him, seemingly playing chicken. At the very last instant before their two forms collided, she flung herself to the side, bouncing off the alley wall with an oof! before continuing her flight. As she’d hoped, the pursuing Eyes of the Lord were not so nimble in their reactions and the two spheres impacted with each other directly above the bearded stranger’s platform, knocking each other askew, taking a few seconds to regain their equilibrium. It was enough time for both parties to lose them in the backstreet maze. The last thing Kali saw of the maybe veteran was his platform throwing up dust as it disappeared into yet another alley, and then she, too, veered left, right, right, left and left again in what she hoped was a dizzying enough series of manoeuvres to ride herself of her sphere for good.

  Breathless now, Kali turned at last into a long, featureless alley – and stopped dead in her tracks.

  One of the Eyes of the Lord hovered at the other end, blocking her escape route. Kali turned and found the second hovering where she had come in. She span on the spot, studying the alley for an alternative means of escape but seeing none, and even if she took to the rooftops – a favourite ploy guaranteed to confound any normal pursuer – it would do little to help her against the omnipresent spheres.

  Both Eyes of the Lord began to move towards her, closing the gap between them, but just as they drew near a staggering, singing figure suddenly emerged from a plain and hard to spot doorway just a few feet away. Though she would clearly be observed going in, it would have to do for now, and Kali grabbed at the door before it closed, spinning herself inside.

  Fug and the smell of her favourite thing greeted her, because on the other side of the door was a bar. The fact that it had been unsigned hinted that it was likely frequented only by those who knew it was there, clearly the kind of back street watering hole visited by sailors who traded in exotic and illicit goods. Consequently, the face of every customer within snapped towards Kali with expressions ranging from curiosity to startled guilt to snarling, outright belligerence, and more than one hand dropped to a blade sheath concealed under clothing. Even a game of arrows taking place in the far corner stopped – literally, with the tiny projectile frozen in mid air – the ship’s first mage whose throw it had been pausing time to weigh up the unexpected arrival.

  Kali had no time to weigh up anything, knowing the spheres were only one or two seconds behind her, and she darted for a booth in the most shadowed area of the bar, vanishing into the dark. This action alone seemed to mollify the regulars – if the girl was hiding, and in this town she could only be hiding from the law, then she was all right by them – and they turned back to their business.

  “This booth is occupied,” a voice growled in the darkness beside her. “Fark off.”

  Kali jumped. The ill-mannered request had come from right next to her. But, dark as it was, the booth was clearly empty. Kali shook her head. Must have been a trick of the acoustics in the place.

  Something prodded her sharply in her ribs, near her breast, prompting an indignant “Ow!”

  “Go on, ar said. Fark off.”

  “What the hells?”

  Another prod.

  “Are ya deaf, smoothskin? Or is yer just plain stupid?”

  “Now wait one pitsing min – ” Kali began. She turned with the intention of snapping off whatever it was doing the prodding but at that moment the door to the bar was booted wide open and sunlight flooded in. The regulars, who were used to the door never being open for longer than it took someone to duck quickly and furtively inside, squinted and shielded
their eyes against the brightness.

  Silhouetted shapes appeared in the light. Two spherical shapes that floated slowly inside, followed by two armoured human shapes, Swords by the look of them. The Eyes of the Lord had brought reinforcements.

  “Aw, me mother’s bollocks, now ya’ve gone and done it,” the voice next to Kali cursed. “Come on, then, smoothskin, ya’d better get under here.”

  Kali felt something thrown over her, the weight and texture of one of Merrit Moon’s horse blankets. She became immediately aware of two things: that the blanket stank worse than possibly anything else she’d smelled in her life, and that its stink originated with the hunched figure she was sharing it with. He was so bad he seemed to have to transfer his excess stink through some form of osmosis. What Kali didn’t expect, therefore, was his next comment.

  “Great Gods, smoothskin, ya stink like a mool’s arse after a bad case o’ the trots.”

  “I stink?” Kali gasped. But then realised the creev had likely left her with a body odour problem of her own.

  “Keep ya bloody voice down, or ya might bring more attention than me cloak can stand.”

  “Cloak?” Kali blurted. “You plan to hide from the patrol under a pitsing cloak?”

  “It fooled you, didn’t it?”

  “It was dark, then!”

  “Trust me, smoothskin.”

  “Oh, sure. Better idea. I’ll go stand in that corner with a lampshade on my head!”

  The figure sighed. “For a small ’un ya’ve got quite the gob on ya. Do me a favour and shut it for a second, eh?”

  “You are asking for –” Kali began, but stopped as the spheres and Swords, so far having concentrated their activity on the patrons near the bar, turned their attention to the booths. Kali froze as the Eyes of the Lord floated before her, and could almost feel the Overseers in Scholten peering at her intently.

  “You, Allantian,” one of the Swords barked. “We’re looking for two fugitives – a girl and a short, thick-set man.” He hesitated. “On a trolley.”