Solomon's Journey

by James Maxstadt

  The door flew open, all the way through its arc to hit the wall behind with a resounding boom.

  Celia jumped back, moving down the steps, her hands raised, ready to defend herself against anything that might emerge.

  But nothing did. The noise of the mob behind her grew, but no one came to join her as she cautiously moved back up the steps. If she thought about it, she could still feel that nausea, although it was weak enough to ignore if she chose.

  At the top, she approached the open door, waiting for one of the hunters to appear. When none did, she moved closer, until she could see inside.

  The room was dark, the light of the moon illuminating it just enough for her to see that it was empty. Slowly, she entered, staying near the door so that she could grab it if it started to swing shut on its own.

  There was nothing in the room that she could use to wedge it open. From the doorway she could see that it was completely empty. A large, square room coated in dust, with two boarded up windows on either side of the entrance, heavy wood trim around the edges, and one exit.

  Directly across from where she stood was a closed door.

  She moved in a little further, disturbing the dust on the floor and making her nose itch. She sneezed once and then advanced more.

  There was no sign that anyone else had moved through the room. No tracks through the dust, no disturbance at all. When she looked back, there was a clear trail of the few steps she had taken.

  Drawing in a shallow breath and trying not to cough, she crossed the room to the other door. It was locked, and when she examined it the hinges were on this side. There would be no kicking this one in, and she had nothing with her to take the hinge pins out with.

  All right then, she’d go back to Greta’s for the night, get some rest and come back tomorrow during the day. It’d be lighter, then, and less dangerous on the streets. Friedrich was sure to have tools, and she’d bring them with her, take this door down and—

  There was a noise behind her.

  She spun around to see the man from the alley standing in the doorway. His face was slick with sweat and there was vomit on the front of his shirt, and he stared at her with a feverish intensity.

  “Hope you like your new home, bitch,” he said.

  Then he reached out and grabbed the door, pulling it shut.

  The room was plunged into complete darkness, the dim light of the moon outside cut off. For a moment, Celia felt panic rising, but then she calmed herself.

  She had kicked the door in, shattering the latch. There was no way to secure it now, and the room was empty. Walk straight forward and she would run right into it. And when she got out, that man would be wise to be nowhere around.

  Even knowing the room was empty, she took her time crossing it, first sliding one foot forward, then the next, sure that something was suddenly going to be there to trip her up.

  By the time she made it to the door, her heart was hammering in her chest and her hands were trembling. She fought her fear down and reached out.

  With a sigh of relief, she found the handle and pulled.

  The door didn’t move. She pushed the thumb latch down, but it stayed stuck fast.

  Her breath coming faster, she ran her hand over the side of the door, where the latch would meet the jamb. It should have been splintered from where she kicked it in, but instead, she encountered only smooth wood.

  “No,” she whispered, then grabbed the handle with both hands and yanked. The door remained firm, not even rattling in its frame. “Come on.” Her voice rose, and she pulled harder. “Please! Someone! Let me out!”

  Her voice fell flat in the darkness of the room. She wasn’t sure anyone outside could even hear her.

  “Calm down,” she whispered, and forced herself to stop, control her breathing, consider what her possibilities were. “The windows,” she muttered. Maybe the boards would be loose enough to pull off the ones on the inside, kick off the ones across the outside.

  She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the door. “The windows. That will work.” If she told herself it was so, maybe it would be.

  She took a deep breath, blowing out sharply at the sting of the dust and opened her eyes.

  Behind her, there was the snick of a lock turning and the slow creak of an opening door.

  Chapter 28

  “I wonder if his normal expression is to look like he’s sucking lemons, or if it’s just around me,” Thaddeus thought to himself.

  He and Melanie stood in front of Malachi’s desk while he sat behind it, glowering at them. Normally, Thaddeus would have taken a moment to enjoy the view behind the Head of House Subtle Hemlock, but since they had been summoned here in the middle of the night, there wasn’t much to be seen at the moment.

  “What was going on earlier today?” Malachi finally asked.

  “Earlier?” Thaddeus asked, knowing full well what Malachi was referring to.

  Which might have been a misstep. Malachi narrowed his eyes, his expression becoming even more sour. “Are you playing games with me?”

  “No, of course not. I meant that I wasn’t sure which part of earlier you were questioning.”

  “Between you two. Walls of fire, you on your knees, her sneering at you.”

  “Ah, that. Nothing of consequence, really. Just a disagreement between…friends.”

  “A lover’s quarrel, in other words,” Malachi said, his voice dry.

  Thaddeus shrugged. “I guess you could call it that.”

  “I won’t have disruptions to this House,” Malachi continued. “Not between you two and not involving others. I’ve looked the other way from your little dalliance. Is it time that I paid attention to it?”

  “No,” Melanie replied. “It was nothing.”

  “Then you’ll tell me what it was about.”

  “I lost my—”

  Thaddeus cut her off. “It was my fault. I was being a jerk. Melanie has been more than helpful to me since I came here, and I was getting a swelled head over my progress. She reminded me of how much I have yet to learn. You can call it a lover’s quarrel if you want, but really, it was her acting as a teacher, disciplining an unruly student.”

  Malachi sat back in his chair and regarded them.

  “You have grown since your arrival, haven’t you?” he mused. “First you burn a Soul Gaunt to ash, and now I see you summoning fire from thin air. Not an easy task. It seems that you’ve found your talent.”

  Thaddeus bowed slightly. “Thanks to you, and to Melanie here. Yes, I seem to have an affinity for fire, and I hope that…”

  The pain was sudden and intense. It felt like the remaining fingers on his maimed hand were being pulled apart, the skin sloughing off and the nails being slowly peeled back. He gasped, his mouth working silently and tears springing from his eyes.

  “Would you care to guess what my talent is?” Malachi asked.

  The pain moved up Thaddeus’s arm, the bone surely breaking.

  “There are no secrets in this House that I am not privy to. Yes, you have power, but it’s nothing compared to mine.”

  Thaddeus lifted his head, his lips curled back from his teeth. If he could get a flame going on the desk…

  The pain tore through his whole body and this time he did scream as he dropped to the floor.

  “Do you really want to try your power against mine?” Malachi purred. “Please, let’s continue. Surely you can do better than this.”

  Then, as suddenly as it appeared, the pain was gone, leaving Thaddeus gasping for air on the floor. He expected more taunting, or perhaps a laugh, from behind the desk, but there was nothing.

  Slowly, he pulled himself upright, his muscles twitching.

  Malachi sat behind his desk, a peaceful expression on his face, smiling pleasantly at Thaddeus.

  “Ah, Thaddeus,” he said. “I’m glad you came in. Please, have a seat.”

  Thaddeus blinked, then turned to Melanie, who stood next to him, her eyes closed. He sank into the offered
chair and after a moment, she opened her eyes and sat down in her own.

  “I think it’s time we discussed an outside mission for the two of you. Perhaps something involving the Greenweald?” Malachi spoke as if he hadn’t been torturing Thaddeus only moments ago.

  Thaddeus was still trying to find his voice when Melanie answered for them both.

  “That’s very generous of you,” she said, “but I don’t think Thaddeus is quite ready yet. Perhaps in a week or two?”

  “Fine, fine.” Malachi nodded happily. “I’ll leave it to your judgement. Let me know when you feel he’s ready, and we’ll make it so. Now, was there anything else?”

  “No, I think that was it,” she said. “Thanks for taking the time to see us.”

  “Of course. Only next time, let’s make an appointment. I am an awfully busy man, you know.”

  “Of course,” Melanie said and stood. “Come on, Thaddeus.”

  As they left the room, Thaddeus looked back at the Head of House. Malachi was staring down at his desk, a slightly confused expression on his face, as if he couldn’t remember quite what it was that he was doing.

  “Did you…?” he asked.

  Melanie grinned, glanced back and then quickened her pace, almost skipping.

  “Oh yes,” she breathed. “And it felt glorious.”

  Chapter 29

  Every time he woke it took him a few minutes to remember that he wasn’t home in the Greenweald. The low ceiling he could almost feel and the dirt under his back reminded him, as did the snores that came from somewhere nearby.

  He was hot and those moments of lucidity were becoming fewer. His leg itched and burned, and when he put his hand down to scratch it, the pain that flared through both was enough to make him want to scream. But somewhere, on the edge of his memory, he heard someone telling him to be quiet, that they were in danger.

  “Heh,” Solomon breathed. “Speak for yourself.”

  The snoring could surely be heard outside of whatever hiding hole this was.

  The night slowly passed in pain and fever, until eventually the space he was in grew lighter and he could see the dusty wooden beams above his head. Blearily, he looked around. He was under a building of some kind. Nearby, a pair of old, shabby boots led to filthy pants. The rest of whoever the pants belonged to was out of his view.

  “Hey,” he whispered. Really, he was trying to call out, but his throat was parched, and he felt dry lips crack when he spoke. “Hey. Wake up. Where am I?”

  The snore went on. Solomon tried to move but the pain in his leg was too great and he felt as weak as a kitten. The best he could manage was to scrabble in the dirt with his undamaged hand.

  When he woke again it was to the sound of the stones being slid aside again and his companion’s voice.

  “All right, daylight now, safe to come out. Can you move?”

  A wrinkled, lined, face came into view, staring at him. Gray unkempt hair covered the man’s head and chin, but his eyes were sharp. He was filthy, and Solomon would have flinched away from the stench of his breath if he were able to.

  The man studied him then nodded.

  “Yep. Thought so. All right, I’ll get you out. Then, I’ll get help.”

  He scuttled around Solomon and grabbed his shoulders, pulling him over the dirt again.

  “Long way around,” the old man muttered. “But I don’t want to pull that leg of yours. Damn plague rats. It’s bad, there’s no doubt of that. I should leave you here, but a man can’t stay under this here house all day. A man ain’t no plague rat. No sir. Gonna have to get you outside. It’s a risk, there’s no helping that. Not healthy to stay under here, though. Nope, you need sunshine and fresh air. Best thing for you until I can get the Doc.”

  He kept up a running commentary as he pulled Solomon further under the house, then around in a circle so that his head was pointing at the opening. With every tug, pain spiked through him from both his leg and hand, and he was absurdly grateful the man wasn’t pulling from one of them.

  The tugging and pulling went on for hours, or at least it seemed so to Solomon. Finally, he emerged from under the house, sliding along on his back, blinking into the dim light.

  “All right, not much further,” the man muttered.

  He maneuvered Solomon to the wall and helped him sit up. Then he flopped down next to him, breathing heavily.

  “That would have been easier if you weren’t so dang tall. And if you didn’t have that great sword attached to your hip. Still, I reckon you need it, and that pack, the way you’ve hung on to it like that. They all like you where you come from? No, don’t answer that. Stupid question and I got no time to hear the answer anyway. I need to get to the doc, get her back here to help you out. Don’t know if she can do anything about a plague rat bite, to say nothing of two, but if anyone can, it will be Doc Mia. She’s that good.”

  Despite saying this, the man showed no signs of hurrying away. He sat next to Solomon, prattling on and breathing heavily.

  “Thank you,” Solomon croaked, his voice a little above a whisper now that he was sitting up.

  “It’s no problem,” the man replied. “No one in Dunfield takes the time to help anymore. Except for Doc Mia. She’ll help. But I don’t see no reason to leave a man to die of plague rat bite. It’s not humane, if you know what I mean.”

  “I do,” Solomon said, hoping the man would go fetch the doctor any time now.

  “All right now. Off I go.” The old man scrambled to his feet. “Say now, you’ve still got that pack grasped tight. That’s good. Old Sam won’t try to take it from you but be careful out here. And that sword on your belt. Folk around here will try to sell it right out from under you, if they can. But I’ll hurry. It’ll be all right.”

  He stood gazing down at Solomon for a few more moments, then nodded as if coming to an internal decision and scurried away.

  Solomon felt his eyes growing heavy again as he watched Old Sam, if that was the man’s name, recede down the street. It was cooler out here than it had been under the building, but he was still devilishly hot. He let his chin fall to his chest and closed his eyes.

  The tugging woke him again, but even in his sleep he didn’t let go of his pack. There wasn’t much in it. Clothes, some money, a flint and steel, a sharpening stone for his sword. Things that he probably wouldn’t need, but you never knew.

  “Give it over!” The voice was rough and accompanied by a kick to Solomon’s ribs. He bent forward, pulling the pack closer to him, and looked up.

  Three men stood around him, two with their backs to him watching the street and one, the largest one, pulling at his pack. For Dunfield, the man attempting to rob him might have been considered strong, but against Solomon he was nothing. Even in a weakened state the man’s strength wasn’t enough to free the pack from Solomon’s grasp.

  The man grimaced, let the pack go and stepped back a pace. Then, without warning, he stomped forward, bringing his heavy boot down hard on Solomon’s fingers that were curled around the strap. There was a loud crack and pain flared through this hand now, too.

  The pain of the broken fingers did what the man’s pulling couldn’t. With a hoarse cry, Solomon let go of the pack and the man bent over and snatched it away.

  “That’s one,” he snarled. “Now, are you going to give me that sword, or do I need to break more bones to take it? It’s all the same to me, friend.”

  Solomon slowly reached over with his red and swollen hand and put it over the hilt of the sword at his belt. He tried to get his fingers to grasp it. If he could pull it from its sheath, even sitting down he could defend himself against the likes of these three.

  His fingers wouldn’t obey him and he couldn’t stop the groan that escaped him when the skin on the back of his hand split open as he tried to close his fist.

  “Give it up, stranger. You don’t need it no more. The plague rats got you good.”

  “Go to hell,” Solomon croaked.

  The man in front of hi
m laughed and after a moment the other two joined in.

  “Have it your way,” he said.

  The first blow caught him in the leg. A savage kick from the man holding his pack and Solomon tried to scream. His eyes opened wide, his mouth gaped and a high-pitched mewling whine escaped him.

  The next boot took him in the side of his head, then square in the mouth. The blows kept coming, even after he felt someone unbuckle his belt and lift the sword from him.

  He tried to curl up into himself and take the blows on his back and arms, but his weakened body wouldn’t even do that. Finally, they stopped and walked away, laughing and singing the lyrics of some bawdy song. He watched them go through his rapidly closing eye, trying to memorize them.

  When he was better…if he got better, he’d find them again.

  They were barely out of sight and his eye was almost swelled completely shut when he heard Old Sam’s voice.

  “Oh, geesh. Someone’s been at you after all. I’m sorry, friend. I truly am. I don’t know what this place has become. I got the doc. I did, and she’s coming. Gathering a few things together, things that could help with plague rat bites, maybe. But you need more than that to be all right.”

  Solomon barely felt the old man pat his shoulder gently.

  “You just lie there, now. Stay still. You’ll be all right. Doc Mia will fix you up. You’ll see.”

  Solomon hoped the old man was right. And he hoped this Doc Mia, whoever she was, would hurry.

  Chapter 30

  If anyone was still in a position to notice, Jocasta was sure they would have seen the dispassion on her face. Even the sight of all these old fools gagging, choking, and vomiting did nothing. She watched them die, studying the way their faces contorted, the sudden stiffness of their limbs. It was ... interesting, at most.

  The wine was a good idea. All Folk loved their wine and didn’t suspect anything was wrong when Jocasta brought it to the council meeting. A thank-you for giving her a chance to take up her cousin’s mantle and try to steer House Whispering Pines into the future. She was sorry that their views diverged so widely, but there was a part of her that was happy. It would be nice to be on her ship again.