From Hell's Heart

by K. T. Davies

  I gave no shits about the neighborhood, Cobb, or Fathands. I had seen him. Not a ghost, not someone who bore a resemblance. It was Tobias. It made sense. In this world he was alive, because the Hammer of the North killed Shallunsard before he could accidentally get out of his prison and kill Tobias.

  Distracted, I trailed after Cobb. He took us into Elfing Docks; a busy mosaic of warehouses on stilts, boats, floating markets, and effluent washed piers that jutted into the river beneath the scything flight of laughing gulls.

  “So who’s this, Tsen Murcatoria?”

  Cobb lit his pipe. “The Empirifex’s current favorite. She’s a great lady; patron of the arts, loves music, adores the theatre.”

  “Go on.”

  “That’s it.” He clamped the pipe in the corner of his mouth.

  “So by ‘great’, you mean rich?”

  He shrugged. “Same thing, ain’t it? Anyway, she loves the theatre.” It was hardly surprising that the extent of Cobb’s knowledge about the favorite only extended as far as its relevance to his world. I had no idea why Tobias was on her boat, or where he was now, and it was maddening. I was sorely tempted to fuck this lot off, go hunt the barge, and find him. And say what? Hello, you don’t know me, but in another life we’re the best of friends. That is, we were the best of friends until a demon killed you, which might have been my fault.” I laughed.

  Cobb glanced over his shoulder. “What’s funny?”

  “Nothing, really.”

  “Aye. You’ve got that right. This is a serious business we’re about.” He drew the pipe from its greasy sheath and pointed it at me. “If you’ve still a mind to, sort your business in Valen, you’d be wise to mind your manners when we meet the But—, when we meet Phyll. He’s not one to be trifled with.”

  “But he is a friend?”

  He shrugged away from the question. “We have an accord.”

  Given that the city’s filth was disgorged into the river and its tributaries, the smell was not as awful as you’d imagine. It grew more flavoursome when the wind shifted and combed the fungal crust that grew upon the clag between land and water. The thick, spongy mat of frilled purple and green fungus glistened darkly through the gaps in the boardwalk. The unsteady ground suited Cobb’s rolling gait, and the captain marched along like a sailor returning from a long voyage. I have often lamented having feet that are unsuited to footwear, but claws are damn useful when purchase is required. Hammerhand being a tall, top-heavy cove possessed of average human dainties, lurched drunkenly. On more than one occasion, he almost tumbled into the brackish wash, which provided an amusing distraction from more troubling thoughts.

  The docks were busy, and no one paid any heed to us as we passed. Despite this, I could feel eyes upon us. It was to be expected, everywhere was someone’s turf. I affected a swagger, adopted a sardonic smile, and allowed the confidence of a merciless killer to shine through.

  “We’re here.” Cobb pointed into the gloom of a dingy alley. An archway of ancient, grey bone looked out of place fronting such a dump. “See this?” He tapped his pipe on the bone that had turned vibrant green at the root from the constant slop of water. “It’s kraken.”

  Hammerhand feigned bored disinterest.

  “I traveled inside a kraken once,” I added. “With a shoal of fighting brachuri.”

  Hammerhand guffawed.

  “You’ve missed yer calling, Breed. You’ve an inksmith’s imagination.” The captain chuckled.

  Kraken Alley was just about wide enough to accommodate a handcart. Walled on both sides by warehouses it switched back upon itself four times. Having done my fair share of smuggling I guessed the narrowness and awkward angles were to prevent large groups from rushing on mass towards whatever lay at the other end.

  I don’t know what I’d expected, but it wasn’t a landscaped courtyard and a charming house built after the Shennish style. A salt-encrusted fountain in the middle of the garden took advantage of the nearby abundance of fish sweat and splashed merrily into a shallow pool surrounded by miniature pine trees and stones that resembled mountains. A startling red bridge arched over artfully raked pebbles, and a stepping stone path led to a veranda.

  The boardwalk flexed. Whoever was there stayed downwind and around the corner out of sight, but I could feel their footsteps through the planks. Hammerhand felt them too and cast half a glance over his shoulder. Overlooking the courtyard, a caged jade wing squawked in alarm at our arrival. Protected from the cold wind coming off the estuary, the still air allowed long dragon tails of incense to lazily drift from tapers surrounding a shrine decorated with insects. The pretty house was incongruous, surrounded as it was by its dour, industrial neighbors. But for all the whitewash, gilding, and fancy topiary, the stink coming from the place said slaughterhouse rather than family home.

  Cobb doffed his hat and stepped onto the bridge. Steel slid from sheathes and the pair of ghosts that had been tailing us walked into the light. One had a Shennish look about her and was holding a neat, little handbow. The other fellow was garbed in a fish leather jerkin and breeches. His long barbels hung like mustachios, and he carried a pair of poignards with blades so fine they appeared to be nothing more than flashes of light.

  “Ah, good day.” The captain shoved past Hammerhand and me and inclined his head. “I’ve come to see Phyll.” He waited. Neither spoke. Undaunted, he continued. “I sent word that I’d be dropping by. Is he in?”

  “I know you,” said the Shennish cove, the handbow drifting between the three of us. “Cobb, isn’t it?”

  “Aye, Captain Cobb, at your service.”

  She snorted. “Captain of what? The skiff you came in on?”

  Cobb’s eyestalks dropped and his shoulders hunched around a story I could see he didn’t wish to remember. “Aye, well, it’s more of an honorific these days.”

  “Wait here. I’ll see if he’s busy. Stay off the garden.”

  “How about pissing in the fountain…can we? No?” I shrugged innocently despite the envenomed glares of all present. “What? I asked first, didn’t I?”

  The fellow with the catfish whiskers followed the wench to the house and stood guard outside while she entered.

  “Are you trying to get us killed?” Hammerhand side-mouthed.

  “Just trying to lighten the mood, is all.”

  “What?” He loomed over me, angrily confused.

  “Well, between him over there giving us the fisheye and you flexing and posturing, I thought it was all getting a bit tense.”

  “You fucking love causing trouble, don’t you?” He jabbed me in the chest with a finger almost as thick as my wrist. “It’s like a disease with you.”

  “At last! Someone who understands me. That’s why I imagined having sex with you, Varcan. I knew you were my type.” I smiled.

  “Captain, tell this fool to shut up or so help me...”

  Before Cobb could intervene the wench returned bringing with her the blood-ridden stench of death. “Master Paradoxa will see you.”

  The house was simply furnished. The walls were decorated with delicate paintings of moon blossom and hawk spiders picked out in silver leaf. The Shennish cully opened an ironbound door unleashing the hot stench of viscera. The thunder of hooves was accompanied by a tusker shrieking. I made to draw a barker, but Cobb stayed me with a hand on my arm.

  Hammerhand backed up as a blood-eyed boar charged towards the doorway. Before it crossed the threshold, there was a blur of motion. Something swooped from the rafters too fast for me to follow. The tusker let loose a blood-curdling squeal and died, nailed through its armour-plated back by a pair of huge, serrated foreclaws. Without pause, the killer hauled the boar up into the darkness. Blood and viscera rained down. I guessed the show was purely for our benefit as neither Fishface nor the Shennish cove seemed in the least perturbed. I resisted the urge to applaud.

  “After you.” The woman smiled, confirming my guess. We were supposed to be intimidated. Being a creature possessed of few
and simple emotions, Hammerhand looked untroubled and I gave no fucks because I’d seen Mother do far worse before I was weened. As he was a sensitive artist and heavily inclined to the dramatic, Cobb fell for it, and was sweating like a blacksmith’s whatnots.

  I ignored the hot pluck that squished between my toes as I entered, followed by Cobb and Hammerhand.

  It was dark, save for slivers of light that broke through doors leading onto a dock where fractious gulls were fighting over bloody gobbets of flesh. A dozen, tusker carcasses were hanging from the rafters, gently swinging on gore encrusted hooks. The floor was tiled and slippery with blood. It wasn’t the worst place I’ve ever been by far, but neither would I have chosen it for a meeting. Of course, I wasn’t Phyllocanus Paradoxa, who at that moment dropped from the roof. On his way down, he neatly disemboweled the tusker with a lightning swipe, causing the animal and its bled-out neighbors to dance wildly on the hooks.

  Paradoxa was about seven feet tall, pale blue with a wedge-shaped head. His torso was humanish, but his arms and legs were elongated. A second pair of razor-edged limbs bulged from double-joined shoulders. Having sensibly decided to go about his work naked, he was covered in blood.

  “Ah, Cobb. I heard you were in town. He plunged his humanish arms in a barrel of water and washed the blood off, obviously amused that Cobb and Hammerhand didn’t know where to look. When he was done he gestured to the woman before turning his attention to Cobb. “Pla, pass me my robe. Forgive the mess, the last of the consignment wanted to go out fighting. Greshin?” The catfish looked up. “Tell the smokehouse we’re ready.” His face was almost human save that it was sharply angular, and his eyes were flat slabs of green, unblinking and hard to read. The smell of animal blood clung to the long single braid of blue-white hair that hung down his back to his narrow behind. Like most insects, he smelled of earth and bones and every word he spoke was accompanied by a throaty click.

  Greshin bowed and left through the dockside door, putting a raft of birds to angry flight. The Shennish cove, passed her master a red silk robe and sash. The Butcher unfolded his extra arms, and with the help of Pla, carefully teased the robe over his spikes.

  “You look well, Phyll,” said Cobb.

  He slapped his stomach. “Clean living, Cobb. You, however, look like shit.” He turned his attention to Hammerhand. “What trouble’s this daft old bastard got you into now?”

  The big fellow’s jaw tightened beneath his whiskers.

  Furious, Cobb put his hat on. “It seems I’ve wasted all our time. Sorry to have bothered you, Master Paradoxa.” He turned to leave.

  “Hold up, Cobb. I’m just bantering with you. Sweet Salvation! It must be bad if you can’t take a joke. Pla, get our guests some happy water.” Paradoxa led us back into the house and upstairs to a drawing room. He settled himself on the floor and invited us to sit on the silk divans. When everyone was seated, he turned to me. “And who are you?”

  “Breed—.” I almost said Breed Blake, but even without lives hanging in the balance, less is always more when it came to imparting information to members of the skulking class. “Everyone just calls me Breed.”

  “What do you do in the company? Actor, musician?”

  I rested my hand casually on the butt of Crane’s handcannon.

  He chuckled and turned to Cobb. “I’d have never thought a skinflint like you would splash the gold to hire a sellsword.”

  Cobb gave me a hard look before answering. “Breed’s more of a friend.”

  The woman reappeared carrying a tray of cups and a bottle of steaming rice wine. Paradoxa rubbed his claws together in anticipation. “Ah. Perfect. Killing always makes me thirsty.”

  “Nothing I can do, Cobb. Sorry.” Phyllocanus folded all of his arms.

  Cobb put his head in his hands. “What am I supposed to do with the girl?”

  “I don’t know…take her to the skin market?”

  “Sell her?” Cobb’s eyes bulged on their stalks.

  Even Hammerhand looked like he was going to punch the bug-headed cunt. I kept my feelings to myself. Mostly because of late, losing my temper had been extremely detrimental to life.

  Phyllocanus gave a rattling sigh. “I can see by the expressions on your faces you’ve made the novice mistake of growing to like the baggage.”

  Neither answered. Phyllocanus turned to me. “You see my problem? This Ludo person is already ensconced in the court. I’ve seen him myself, and they love him. Not to mention, the Empirifex would rather spend his gold on a fucking ziggurat than greenshanks, which contrary to what you might think, is not good for my other business.”

  “Aye, I understand, you’re spending precious resources defending your turf and your goods from opportunists now there’s no city guard you can bribe to look out for you.”

  “Exactly. Now, if you could explain that to the good captain, I’d be much obliged.”

  “I don’t want you to do anything. Just vouch for me, and I’ll do the rest,” Cobb pleaded.

  “What part of vouch don’t you understand? If I vouch for you, and you cause trouble, I’ll be in deep and deadly shite.”

  “I’ll pay you.”

  “You don’t have enough gold.”

  “Please.”

  “No.”

  “There must be something that could make it worth your while?”

  Phyllocanus rested his head on his hands. It was an excellent impression of someone pretending to think about something they had already decided. “I really shouldn’t get involved, but I like you Cobb. There is this one, trifling thing you could do for me.”

  “We help you, and you get us into the court?”

  The Butcher smiled. “Help me, and I can get one of you in.”

  Cobb spat in his palm and held out his hand. “Deal.”

  “I don’t know why people feel the need to do that.” Phyllocanus shook Cobb’s hand. “Deal.”

  15

  The ‘little job’ Cobb had agreed to do in exchange for an introduction to the Midnight Court, saw us taking a barge ride to a mystery location. Accompanied by the taciturn boat crew and Pla, we headed northwest along a tributary of the Val that flowed beneath the gracious hills of Valen. Set upon the verdant heights, elegant mansions and golden temples looked down upon the sprawl. I hoped that one of the grand demesnes would be our destination.

  As usual, I was to be disappointed.

  We continued beyond the hills to a fly-ridden marsh. The reed choked wetland was studded with half-sunken ruins and dozens of small islands. What inhabitants there were fled into rough dwellings hung with nets and creels as we passed.

  As the first sun began to seep into the dark horizon, we glided between towering miscanthus and moored at the remains of a quay. It was obviously well used by smugglers, being as it appeared to be a wreck, but was perfectly functional. From there, Pla led Cobb, Fathands, and me on foot another half mile through the swamp until we came to an island. The ghost of a sunken road shimmered beneath the water until the land rose to meet the arch of a dilapidated bridge that spanned the sunken plane. It was flanked by statues of headless angels. Their broken wings lay scattered in the shallows and their tarnished swords bled rust on weathered hands. Across the bridge stood a twenty-foot wall of black granite. Topped by spikes, it was overhung by the dark branches of moon cherry trees, their white blooms straining to burst from their buds.

  “A cemetery?” I turned to Pla.

  She shrugged. “It’s more a necropolis than a mere cemetery. Come on.”

  Understandably reluctant, Cobb headed after her, and where the captain went, Hammerhand followed. I considered returning to the boat but allowed my morbid curiosity to get the better of me. The wall was mostly intact. The marble door was bound with chains and sealed with a sigil carved into a slab of hanged man’s fat. I pointed to the ward. “That isn’t to keep people out, you know.”

  Pla snorted. “It’s there to scare people.”

  I touched the chain and felt the magic wi
thin the links as sharp as a snake bite. “This isn’t a prop,” I said, my fingers tingling.

  Cobb swallowed hard. Hammerhand shuffled.

  “The families of the dead don’t want their kin robbing.” Pla smiled, tried to coax a bit of spine into the captain. “They pay for the ward’s upkeep.”

  Moss and trailing creepers had infiltrated cracks in the wall. The spikes were rusted, and grass was growing through the marble pavers. “No one’s been planted here in a long while,” I observed.

  Pla’s lips thinned to a hard line, and she gave me the knife eye. “There are a lot of old families in Valen who respect their ancestors. I know that’s probably hard to understand for those who likely don’t know their own sire’s name.”

  Cobb took a half step back, but he needn’t have worried. I laughed. “So what’s your friend want then? Bones, ashes, a nice, marble urn for his garden?”

  “I don’t know. I ain’t no tomb robber.” Cobb’s eyes darted nervously from the door to the bridge.

  “Then you ain’t getting into the Midnight Court,” said Pla. “Master Paradoxa wants one, small item retrieving.”

  “Stealing.” I coughed.

  “Retrieving.”

  “So what does he want ‘retrieving’?”

  “Just a book.”

  And that was me done. “Seriously? No. Just… no.” I said. “Come on, we’ll find another way.” I headed back towards the bridge. They didn’t follow. “What are you waiting for?”

  Cobbs eyestalks bent pleadingly towards me. “We need that introduction to the court.”

  “What kind of book do you think gets locked in a fucking necropolis, Cobb?” He shrugged I looked to Hammerhand, who was conveniently looking elsewhere. “I mean if it’s just, ‘a book’ then why haven’t any of Paradoxa’s crew gone in for it?”

  “There’s nothing sinister about it,” Pla jumped in. “Master Paradoxa only got the order the other day from a collector of antiquities.”

  “That’s a fancy way of saying ‘necromancer’.”