Decimus Fate and the Butcher of Guile: (Decimus Fate - Book 2)

by Peter A Flannery

  To Julie with love

  Decimus Fate

  and the

  Butcher of Guile

  Peter A. Flannery

  BLACKHEART BOOKS

  Prologue – The Butcher

  Of Murder and Marriage

  Tormented by Demons

  The Tincture of Fixation

  Blackfell House

  Witches of the Black Pact

  The Sergeant

  Vulpyrac’s Hound

  A Butcher’s Cleaver and the Sewers of Guile

  The Search Begins

  Sienna Blade

  Like Father Like Son

  The Divine Spirit

  The Storm Drain

  Curiosity Killed the Cat

  The Curse of a Feral Mage

  The Sump

  Unleashed

  Hector and Starke

  The Fungus and the Fiend

  The Empty Slab

  The Butcher of Guile

  Luca’s Tale

  Ensnared

  Lord of the Thistleblade Sword

  The Taming of the Hound

  Stay Strong

  An Unlikely Assassin

  Monsters

  Motina’s Pantry

  Swallow or Die

  Trust

  Wounded and Bleeding

  The Hunt Resumes

  Hobson’s Choice

  The Plan Unfolds

  Lord Medici’s Wrath

  In the House of Master Veleno

  The Juoda Pakta

  Two of Him

  Deception

  Evening the Odds

  Taxus Eternus

  Breakout

  To Never See the Sun

  Epilogue - Bohr

  Prologue

  The Butcher

  The sewers of Guile were a labyrinth of pipes, drains and brick-lined aqueducts, all weaving between a series of natural tunnels carved out before guile was even a word. They were a place of fear and urban myths with none so disturbing as the so-called Butcher of Guile. Many had heard the stories of how he chopped up his victims before disposing of their bodies in the river. However, what nobody knew was that the Butcher did not work alone.

  It was deep in the night when the hunched form of a troglodyte emerged from a storm drain in the northern part of the city. Looking almost like a man, the cave-dweller was dressed in knee-length trousers with a plain linen shirt, and its pale skin shone with a faint silvery light.

  Pausing at the mouth of the storm drain, the troglodyte checked to make sure the coast was clear before venturing into the street that led down to the river. The pale figure was slender at the waist with broad shoulders, short legs and long arms. Over one shoulder he carried a sack and it was clear from his hunched posture that the sack was heavy.

  Keeping to the deepest pockets of shadow, the troglodyte moved quickly towards the river. His route took him through the black buildings of the caulking yard where the river boats of Guile were made watertight. The air grew thick with acrid smells and he failed to notice an area of pine pitch that had spilled across the road. The normally tacky substance was made slippery by a layer of moisture and the troglodyte made a cursing sound as he slipped and fell. He lost his grip on the sack and something tumbled out.

  There was just enough light to reveal that the ‘something’ was an arm, cleanly severed at the shoulder and tied with a short length of rope to other shapes in the sack.

  Coming quickly to his feet, the troglodyte grabbed the arm and stuffed it back into the sack. As he closed up the sack he saw the dark silhouette of a tattoo on the back of the arm’s hand. Even in the darkness he could make out the shape of a harp, the mark of an apprentice musician. Unfortunately, this young man had yearned for excitement which led to him making some bad decisions. Those bad decisions led to a price on his head from one of the most dangerous gangs in the city, and that price had brought him to the tender mercy of the Butcher.

  Quickly, the troglodyte gathered up his sack and continued down to the dark expanse of the River Scéal. Pausing once again to make sure the coast was clear, he tipped the grizzly contents of the sack into the river. The pale shapes tumbled into the water with a series of noisy splashes, but within a matter of seconds all was quiet as the river carried away the remains of a teenage boy. The various parts were tied together and so they did not drift far from each other. Unlike a killer who might seek to hide a body, the Butcher wanted his handiwork to be found.

  For just a moment the troglodyte lingered at the water’s edge, then he threw the empty sack into the river and turned back towards the storm drain and the maze of tunnels and sewers that he called home, a home he shared with a man known as the Butcher of Guile.

  1

  Of Murder and Marriage

  Three nights later, in a large and luxurious mansion, a young man called Luca choked back a cry of shock as he peered through an interior doorway. There, on a bloodstained carpet, lay the seventeen-year-old niece of his employer, stabbed… strangled… dead.

  Knowing he would be dead if anyone saw him, Luca backed away from the horrific scene and walked towards the patio doors of the drawing-room. In his trouser pocket he had a letter from the dead girl, a plea for help that he had promised to deliver to her father. But now it was too late.

  Suddenly he heard voices from the adjacent room.

  ‘I know!’ cried a strident voice that he knew all too well. ‘I know this is different. I know this is family!’ There was a pause. ‘Oh, don’t worry,’ the voice continued as if in answer to a question. ‘We’ll… we’ll blame it on the new footman. The boy always had an eye for Eliza. Now he can hang for the death of my dear cousin.’

  Luca knew that the ‘new footman’ meant him. Filled with terror he fumbled with the key in the patio doors. He had to tell someone what happened. He had to show someone the letter. If he showed them the letter then that would prove his innocence.

  Finally the door opened, but Luca paused. No, the letter was not enough. He needed the potion too. Turning back into the room he dashed over to a drinks cabinet that was wreathed in what looked like steam. In the adjacent room, the voices continued.

  ‘No, you fool.’ said the strident voice. ‘Bring the wash bowl here! I can’t go dripping blood through the house.’ Then… ‘Right, now go and find the boy!’

  Luca’s time was up. Opening the drinks cabinet he felt a blast of cold as a chill mist blew into his face. With no time to spare he caught a quick glimpse of a small silver flask and reached out to grab it. Then, before anyone even knew he was there, he slipped out of the patio doors, sprinted across the lawn and scrambled over the boundary wall before disappearing into the night-time streets of Guile.

  In the space of an hour, Luca had seen a young woman murdered, lost his job and was now on the run for his life. He had taken this job despite his mother’s objections because they needed the money and he hated being poor. But, as it turned out, his mother was right.

  There are worse things in life than simply being poor.

  *

  In another part of the city, a young woman called Jane wept tears of despair as she argued with her mother.

  ‘I don’t care what you say,’ said the girl. ‘I’m going to marry Inganno and there’s nothing you can do about it.’

  ‘Jane, please!’ said the mother. ‘Please just let us talk about it.’

  ‘There’s nothing to say,’ insisted the girl.

  ‘But it’s all so quick,’ said the mother. ‘Please. Just speak to this man before you do something that you might regret.’

  ‘I’m not speaking t
o any man,’ cried Jane. ‘Nothing he can say will change my mind.’

  ‘But he might be able to help,’ said the mother. ‘His name is Fate, but they call him the Sage of Blackfell House.’

  ‘I don’t need help,’ snapped Jane, ‘and I don’t need any so-called ‘sage’ telling me who I should love! I’m going to marry Inganno and that’s that!’

  ‘Please,’ begged the mother. ‘He said he would call on us tomorrow. Just one more day, that’s all I’m asking. Just one more day, and if you still want to marry Inganno then I won’t stand in your way.’

  For a moment Jane’s conviction appeared to waver, but then her pretty face became fixed with determination.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘My mind is made up. I will be leaving for Inganno’s house in the morning.’

  *

  And, just a mile away in the basement of an expensive townhouse, a potion maker called Inganno smiled in anticipation as he waited for his beloved Jane to arrive.

  2

  Tormented by Demons

  The river city of Guile lies in a region of forests and hills known as the Seven Vales. Half a day’s journey west of the city two men were riding along the forested road as the autumn sun filtered through a canopy of green and russet gold.

  One of the men was a tall man with long black hair, blue eyes and the dark skin of those who hailed from the Southern Isles. Dressed in black leather, he had a band of throwing stars across his chest and plates of hard leather armour covering his right arm and shoulder. The sword hanging at his waist was curved with a long handle and a white gemstone encased in the pommel. It was a Hadean Blade, a weapon capable of channelling the essential life-force of the wielder, and the man carrying it was once a demon hunter. His name was Alexander Teuton, but most people knew him only as the Tutor.

  The other man wore the charcoal grey robes of a sorcerer, the dark fabric edged with arcane designs that shimmered with a touch of silver. He wore a bracelet of dark metal charms on his wrist and two daggers hung from his belt, the handles of which were carved in the form of dragons, one white, one black. This man was also tall with long dark hair and the paler skin of those who lived in the cooler climes of the Seven Vales. The man’s features had a hawkish quality and his deep brown eyes were shot through with flecks of gold. His name was Decimus Fate, a once-notorious sorcerer who renounced his power to avoid becoming a slave to magic.

  In recent years, both men had earned a reputation for helping people, but it was only in the last few weeks that they had found themselves working together. Now they were on their way to see the countess of a country estate.

  The estate in question was owned by Count Leopold Cévaro, a cruel man who had recently hired two demonic sorcerers, known as the Kane Twins, to kill Fate and the Tutor. However, after learning of her husband’s nefarious plot, the countess had risked her own safety and ridden through the night to warn them. She had managed to get back home before her absence was noticed, but now she was dealing with the consequences of her husband’s foolish plans.

  During their time at the mansion, the Kane Twins had used one of the serving girls in their spells, trading her body and soul for power from the demonic realm.

  ‘Do you think we’ll be able to help her?’ asked the Tutor as he and Fate drew closer to the Cévaro estate.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Fate. ‘Apparently the girl has some unique physical characteristics, but it all depends on the nature of the link that’s been established with the Daemonaria.’

  ‘I could go through to see if it’s a specific entity,’ said the Tutor. ‘If I could kill the demon that’s trying to claim her…’

  Fate shook his head.

  ‘It doesn’t sound like an individual demon. Besides… opening a rift to the Daemonaria requires magic, and…’

  ‘…you no longer do magic,’ finished the Tutor.

  ‘No,’ said Fate.

  ‘Well, there must be something we can do to help,’ said the Tutor. ‘It’s not fair that the countess should pay for the mistakes of her murderous husband.’

  ‘No it’s not,’ said Fate. ‘It’s not fair at all.’

  Fate glanced at the demon hunter as they continued on their way. The Tutor and the countess had something of a history. Their first meeting had resulted in a feeling of mutual animosity. However, more recent events had caused those feelings to evolve into something closer to mutual respect, something that neither of them would choose to admit.

  The Tutor tried to hide it but Fate could sense the nervous tension in the air.

  ‘What?’ said the Tutor as he caught Fate looking at him.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Fate, and he smiled as they turned into the main driveway of the Cévaro estate.

  *

  Countess Cévaro was dozing in a chair beside the window of her bed-chamber. She was exhausted. For days now she had been caring for one of the serving girls who had been traumatised by the two demonic sorcerers that her husband had hired. The two sorcerers were now dead, but the link they had forged with the realm of demons continued to torment the girl and she was haunted by nightmares of being lost to creatures of the Daemonaria.

  For the first few nights the countess had tried to comfort her, insisting that the threat was all in her dreams, but the evil of those dreams had begun to seep into the real world. Objects would fly across the room and patches of the floorboards and the walls had been scorched as if they had been exposed to fire. Disturbing noises could be heard and foul smells permeated the room as the poor girl wrestled with dreams that could easily drive her mad.

  And so the countess was exhausted. She was just trying to take an hour’s rest when one of her maids entered the room.

  ‘Pardon, my lady,’ whispered the maid, clearly reluctant to disturb her mistress’s rest. ‘But there are two men to see you.’

  The countess blinked and adjusted her long dark hair as she struggled into a more upright position in her chair.

  ‘Can the count not see to them?’

  ‘The count has gone into town for a flogging,’ said the maid. ‘And the men asked for you in particular.’

  ‘They did?’ said the countess stifling a yawn.

  ‘Yes, my lady. Polite as you like, but scary too… one of them looks like some dark assassin, while the other one looks like...’

  ‘A sorcerer,’ finished the countess.

  ‘You know him, my Lady?’

  ‘Yes,’ said the countess. ‘His name is Fate.’

  *

  Fate and the Tutor watched as Countess Cévaro entered the reception room of the Cévaro mansion. The autumn sun shone through the windows and the two men were struck once more by the woman’s beauty. With high cheekbones, a full mouth and a strong jaw line, she was not pretty as some women were, but there was an appealing dignity to this woman’s appearance, softened only by a sadness that lay behind the surface of her deep brown eyes.

  ‘Good morning, my lady,’ said Fate.

  ‘Good morning, Lord Fate,’ said the countess before her gaze moved over to the demon hunter. ‘Lord Teuton,’ she said, clasping her hands together as she lowered her eyes.

  ‘My lady,’ said the Tutor with a slight bow of the head.

  ‘My housekeeper passed on your letter. I believe that one of your servants is bedevilled by visions of the demonic realm.’

  ‘More than visions,’ said the countess as the tension and the worry returned to her face.

  ‘The manifestations have become physical?’ asked the Tutor.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said the countess and the gold streaks in Fate’s eyes glowed with a dangerous light.

  ‘Take us to her,’ he said.

  *

  Even before they entered the room they could feel the taint of the Daemonaria, like a foul stench, a shadow of fear, or the whispered promise of unspeakable pain.

  ‘She might be asleep,’ said the countess as her maid opened the door. ‘It was a difficult night.’

  Fate gave a nod of understanding as the
y entered the room where a young woman was lying on a freshly made bed. The woman appeared to be neither awake nor asleep, but rather somewhere in-between. She moaned and shifted, scrunching up her eyes before opening them wide as if startled by something they could not see.

  ‘My lady!’ cried the countess’s maid, pointing to a corner of the room where the floorboards and skirting board had begun to glow.

  Moving quickly, the countess filled a jug from a basin of water at the foot of the bed. She handed it to the maid who flung it over the glowing corner of the room. A foul sulphurous smell filled the air but the steaming floorboards continued to glow.

  ‘That used to work!’ said the countess with a touch of panic in her voice. ‘The water used to work.’

  Striding past the maid, the Tutor drew his sword and reversed his grip before driving the point of the blade into the oak boards that had now begun to smoke. Gripping the handle, he closed his eyes and the white stone in the pommel suddenly flared with light. Almost instantly, the fiery glow faded from the corner of the room and the sulphurous stench gave way to the earthly smell of scorched wood.