by Jim C. Hines
CHAPTER 3
LEECH
They left the outlaws’ lair far too soon for Leech’s liking. Surely the fall of Brightlodge would wait while he completed a quick dissection or two, or at least long enough for him to cut out a few organs for later study.
He’d barely had time to collect one of the nails from a redcap skull. It looked similar to the ones protruding from Blue’s cap: about the length of Leech’s index finger, iron with a square head.
When they emerged into the sunlight, Blue stopped abruptly to gather the discarded seagull bones he had left at the entrance. Curious, Leech reached out and tugged the nail jutting from the back of his skull.
Blue screeched and flung the bones at Leech’s face.
“Sorry,” said Leech. “Did that hurt?”
Rook gave the rope a warning pull. Blue tugged at his noose with one finger and scowled at Leech.
“How’d you get the nails in?” Leech continued. “Did you hammer them yourself, or did another redcap do it? Did they drill guide holes to keep the skull from cracking?”
Leech had examined redcaps before, and there was no logic or consistency to how they secured their headgear. One redcap might have a single oversized nail straight through the centre of the skull, while a more recent specimen he’d dissected had a head like a metal porcupine. In life, the weight of those nails had dragged that redcap’s head down, giving him a tendency to run in erratic circles.
“Aw, don’t tell me you’ve never wondered,” Leech said. “Like the wise man said, ‘Knowledge is half the battle.’ ”
“The way I learned it,” said Tipple, “this here is half the battle.” He tightened his right hand into a fist.
“Yes, but the other half—” Leech began.
“Is over here.” Tipple clenched his left hand and grinned.
Leech sighed. “I met a man who took an arrow through the head and lived. Scrambled his brain like an egg. He started repeating whatever folks said, cursing up a storm. Forgot half his life, including his own wife, though I think he might’ve been faking that last bit.” He pointed to Blue. “Makes you wonder how much of what makes a redcap comes from those nails, hey?”
None of which explained why someone would bother to drain the redcaps of their blood. Or where the rest of the blood had gone. “They must’ve killed ’em somewhere else.”
“Who?” asked Inga.
“The redcaps. It’d explain the lack of blood. But why bother dragging the bodies back through the tunnels?”
“To keep them from being discovered,” suggested Rook.
“Maybe.” Leech rubbed his arms, absently trying to restore warmth to the flesh as he walked. It was always like this after he manipulated the lives of others. His power was unlike those of other Heroes. They attacked the body from the outside. Leech reached past the flesh and pulled the very life from its core.
Taking an outlaw’s essence and using it to heal Rook had been simple enough. Leech was simply the river through which that energy flowed. What worried him was the fact that, over time, every riverbed began to erode.
It was a shame the dead king had run off before the fight. It would be interesting to see how Leech’s ability interacted with a ghost.
A shout yanked his attention back to his surroundings. They had reached the bridge to Hightown. Men and women shied back from the redcap, pointing and crying out.
Blue loved the attention. He grew wilder, leering and laughing and flinging his remaining seagull bones in every direction, until he looked to be in danger of toppling over the side of the bridge and plummeting into the water below.
A young girl threw a rock, striking Blue in the forehead. He shook like a wet dog, then laughed and charged. He had gone only three steps when the noose went taut around his neck. He toppled over backwards, and there was a sharp clink as the nails in his head struck the steps. He rolled about, clawing at his throat for air.
“There’s nothing to fear,” Inga called, her words booming out over the crowd. “Blue is trussed up good and tight. He’s no danger to any of you.”
“Sure he is,” said Leech. “The fact that he’s tied up doesn’t change that. It just prevents him from killing anyone until he can escape, that’s all.”
Inga glared at him.
“Sorry.” That seemed to satisfy her. “If you think about it, people are just as dangerous. They say redcaps started out human. We’ve all got the potential for their savagery. Makes you wonder whether redcaps retain the potential for humanity.”
Leech turned to look at Blue, who had climbed onto the side of the bridge and was getting ready to piss over the edge. Rook yanked him down, fortunately for everyone on the boat passing below.
The crowd grew as they reached the top of the stairs and entered Hightown proper. Shops ringed the plaza. Merchants shouted over one another, competing for the attention—and more important, the money—of potential customers. Weapons and clothing, food and potions, exotic hairstyles, everything was available for the right price.
Leech’s body tensed. He had never appreciated crowds, and the assault of colours and noise and smells made him twitchy. He straightened his spine and deliberately stilled his hands. A handful of other people were like campfires scattered across the landscape; this was a kaleidoscope of multicoloured bonfires, bright and overwhelming and threatening to break into a forest fire. His muscles pulsed with the itch, the need, to move and respond.
Blue darted towards a hat shop. Rook pulled him up short, but not before a man with a walking staff broke away from the crowd. “Is that the monster that’s been stirring up so much mischief?”
“The Heroes have brought him back for justice!” called a woman.
“Someone get the feathers and hot tar!”
“We’re all out of tar.”
“My brother has some syrup. Would that work?”
“What kind?”
“Treacle. Fresh, too!”
“Right,” said the man with the walking staff. “We’ll treacle and feather the redcap!”
Inga positioned herself between Blue and the crowd. “The redcap stays with us until we’ve finished our quest and saved Brightlodge.”
“Saved it from what?”
“We … well, we’re not really clear on that part yet,” Inga admitted.
“What about my pigs?” That was the man whose pig they had stopped earlier.
“And my fruit cart?”
“And my pub?”
While Inga tried to calm the crowd, Leech saw the man with the walking staff hobbling sideways, out of her line of vision. He raised his staff and lunged towards Blue.
Leech stepped in and kicked him in the side of the knee. The man went down hard. His staff clattered away. He looked up to find himself face-to-face with Blue. His eyes widened and his face paled—typical panic response. Before he could recover, Blue sank his teeth into the man’s arm.
“None of that,” Rook said sharply, giving the rope another tug.
The man waved his bloody arm in Leech’s face. “The thing bit me!”
“He sure did. You’ll want to get a bandage on that.” Leech grabbed the man’s arm and pressed his fingers to the edge of the wound. Bright blood welled and dripped to the ground. “Redcaps aren’t venomous, but any bite wound can be nasty. When this gets red and swollen, use a hot blade to drain the pus. If dark streaks begin to spread, I’ll be happy to amputate it for you.”
“You … you’ll what?”
“It’s a simple enough procedure. We could do it now if you’d like. You start by tying a tourniquet just above the wound. Cut through the skin and muscle, then saw through the bones. Stitching up the skin flaps afterwards can be tricky. The secret is to peel back some extra skin before you do the bone. Took me a few tries to figure out that trick. When it heals, you should have enough of a stump for a hook.”
Inga gently tugged Leech back. “It’s little more than a scratch,” she said. “I’ve had worse roughing around with the youngsters back ho
me. Spill a bit of the good wine over the cut, keep it bandaged, and you’ll be good as new in no time.”
“There’s a lot to be said for a good hook,” Leech called. “Durability, grip strength … if you change your mind about that amputation, you can find me at Wendleglass Hall!”
“We’re in a hurry here,” said Tipple.
“Right.” Inga raised her voice. “The redcap is in our care. You’ll leave him alone, or I’ll knock your block off, got it?”
The crowd fell back. There was no further talk of punishment or syrup and feathers. They gave Leech a particularly wide berth.
Blue laughed and leered as they walked.
“Do you think redcaps and people could interbreed?” Leech mused.
“I don’t know what you’re thinking,” said Inga, “but count me out.”
“Oh, no. I didn’t mean—I just think they have more in common with us than we realise.”
“He set a man on fire,” Tipple pointed out.
“For revenge,” said Leech. “What’s more human than that?”
“Thin man with the ugly mask is nice,” Blue announced, swivelling his head to look at Leech. “Blue will eat you last.”
Tipple burst out laughing.
Leech ignored him and turned his attention to the redcap. He had never been good at casual conversation, but he was determined to show them the possibilities. “Condolences on your dead friends back there.”
Blue shrugged and scratched absently at his crotch.
Leech searched for another approach. “You know, biting a man on the outer forearm like you did back there isn’t the best way to go.”
Blue’s eyebrows rose.
“You’ll get more bleeding from the inside of the forearm.” He pushed up his sleeve and traced the veins that stood out on his pale skin. Blue crept closer, suddenly attentive. “The inner arm’s more sensitive to pain as well.”
Blue nodded hard. He examined his own arm, then touched a finger to his teeth. “Need to sharpen them. Sharp as steel. Make them squeal!”
“Not a good idea,” Leech said. “Let me tell you about this one fellow, a minor merchant. Not the brightest coin in the bank. He refused to let me extract a broken tooth. Three months later, half his mouth had rotted. It was fascinating to watch, and one of the most foul-smelling things I’ve ever come across. He died shortly thereafter. All from a chipped tooth.”
Blue’s shoulders slumped, momentarily transforming him from a bloodthirsty killer to a disappointed child.
“How long did the outlaws have your friends captive?” Leech asked.
“Never. Forever.” Blue adjusted his trousers. “Always, always throats to sever.”
“First redcap I’ve seen with a flair for the poetic,” said Tipple.
“Any chance you could end that flair?” asked Rook.
“Depends on the cause.” Leech studied the redcap’s skull. “The rhyming might be part of his personality, like Tipple’s drinking or your scowling. It could also be a response to stress, or an effect of those nails. He’s far more intelligible than most redcaps. Adding or removing nails in just the right location might let us change his patterns of speech. There’s no guarantee it would be an improvement, though. More likely, it’d make him worse.”
“Forget I asked.”
The wind was rambunctious today, carrying the spray of the falls like horizontal rain as they crossed the bridge leading out of town. Leech peered over the rail. He had no fear of heights, but he respected the water’s power. He had seen the bodies of the drowned, their lungs bloated, their skin pale and wrinkled. Not to mention the waterfall itself. From time to time, someone would take a boat too close to the edge and get caught up in the current. The bodies were rarely recovered. Which was a shame, as Leech would have loved to study the damage inflicted by such a fall.
“What do these scoundrels have planned for Brightlodge?” asked Inga. “Do you know why they were stealing redcaps, or how they mean to destroy the town?”
Blue didn’t answer. He tugged at his rope, keeping to the centre of the wide bridge and disrupting traffic in both directions.
“Do you even know where to find Nimble John?” demanded Rook.
Blue smirked. “John be nimble, John be smart. John, who stinks like herring farts.”
Rook pulled the redcap close. “If you’re wasting our time …”
“Quiet, stupid humans,” yelled Blue, apparently uncaring of his own volume. “They’ll hear you from their boat. Kill you all.”
Leech lowered his voice. “You’re leading us to a boat?”
“Big boat.” Blue chuckled. “Full of ale and hats and rats.”
“How many crewmen?” asked Rook.
“Lots.”
Leech nodded. “Good.”
Tipple stared at him, an odd expression wrinkling his brow and tightening the corners of his eyes. “That’s good how, exactly?”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it? It’s one thing to beat a weaker force, but once we start crushing a larger group, their morale will shatter like old bones.” Leech shrugged. “Should make it easy to get the truth out of the survivors.”
Blue led them several miles upriver to a spot just south of the Boggins. The ground squished underfoot, and the air smelled of decaying vegetation. Insects buzzed about their heads.
Leech wiped moisture from the lenses of his mask. It was a shame they were in such a hurry. Hopefully he’d have time to collect some frogs and leeches on the way back. He was starting to run low on a few species.
The redcap pointed through a curtain of reeds to a large wooden riverboat anchored on the far side of the water. At first glance, there was nothing unusual about the boat. Flat and wide, it sat relatively low in the water, suggesting a full hold. Faded paint on the side traced the outline of either a snake or a dragon, but too much had peeled and flaked away to be certain. Leech guessed the boat could carry a crew of twenty-some, with room for cargo. A peaked roof covered much of the deck, providing shelter from sun and rain. A series of rusted metal oarlocks were secured to the lower railing. Crates and barrels were stacked and tied down near the aft.
“She’s seen some action,” said Rook.
As he peered closer, Leech began to make out signs of battle. The side bore numerous scars that looked to have been made by axes or hatchets. More telling was the row of faded red caps nailed to the roof, possibly as warnings. Leech counted nineteen such trophies.
Blue turned large, hopeful eyes towards his captors. “Kill them now?”
“Only if we have to,” said Inga. “My parents raised me to be a Hero, not an executioner.”
Blue stomped his foot and spat. “Stupid parents.”
“We don’t even know if anyone’s home,” Tipple pointed out.
“They’re here.” Leech stared at the boat, feeling the faint tug of the lives moving about belowdeck. He shivered, trying to quell the shadow stirring inside him. There were times when his power left him feeling stained, like his blood had been replaced by cold and darkness, though there was no physical change. He’d taken enough samples of his own blood to be sure.
“You and Rook stay here,” said Inga. “Tipple and I will swim out and board the boat. Keep an eye on Blue and give us cover if we need it.”
Rook pointed to the dark, narrow windows about a foot above the waterline. “They’d be fools to not have someone on watch.” He tied Blue’s leash to a nearby tree and began checking his weapon.
Tipple removed his pack and kicked off his boots, then waded barefoot into the water. “I’ll be yanking leeches off my skin for the rest of the night,” he grumbled.
“Oh, good!” said Leech. “Save them for me, please?”
Inga strode after him, armour and all. By all logic and reason, she should have drowned immediately, but her shield appeared to float, despite its size and weight. Inga used it as a makeshift raft, paddling with her free hand and kicking towards the boat.
They were halfway across when the first outlaw
popped up with a short bow and arrow. Rook shot first, catching the outlaw in the throat.
“That was a lovely shot,” commented Leech. “He’ll be dead in less than a minute. Faster if you hit the carotid.”
A second outlaw followed. This one ducked behind a low crate and managed to put an arrow into Inga’s arm.
Leech looked at the crouching archer, at the fragile life flowing through her skin and bones. He had never found words to describe the perception, a blend of sight, smell, and taste. Colour seemed to drain from the world, the green of the ferns and reeds fading to grey, the paint on the boat turning the colour of ash. Everything dulled save his target. Her form shone like a lantern at midnight. The sweat on her face, the quickness of her breath, the drumbeat of her heart. The human body was little more than a complicated puppet.
Leech cast his Will like a fishing line, lodging a hook through the woman’s life and pulling until it tore. He directed her strength and health towards Inga. The arrow remained lodged in Inga’s arm, but the bleeding slowed as the flesh healed around it. The archer dropped her bow and fell backwards, her strings cut.
“Thanks, Leech,” called Inga.
“Bloody hell,” Tipple shouted. “I think a fish just crawled up my breeches!”
Two more outlaws joined their companions on deck.
“I’ve got the ugly one,” said Rook.
“Can you be more specific?” asked Leech.
A spray of bolts from Rook’s crossbow cleared up Leech’s confusion. He weakened the second outlaw, then Inga and Tipple were at the boat. Tipple simply reached up to grab the rail and hauled back hard, tilting the craft just enough to ruin the outlaws’ balance, while Inga pulled herself one-handed onto the deck. “All right,” she said, “like Old Nanny Smith used to say, we can do this the easy way or the bloody painful way.”
This had been the riskiest part of the attack. Now that Inga and Tipple were on board and able to fight back, they should be more than a match for the remaining outlaws.
Behind him, Blue began to laugh. He pointed at the caps nailed to the boat. “Humans’ turn to die now.”
Leech sat on a half-rotted stump, his attention never wavering from the boat. Everything was going smoothly so far. Blue had led them to the outlaws, and from the sound of things, Inga and Tipple were laying waste to the boat and her crew alike. It made him nervous. There was no way this band of outlaws could have brought about the doom of Brightlodge, at least not on their own. If the seer’s prediction was right, the true threat was still out there, waiting.
