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

by Peter A Flannery

  Quietly, the two men left the room and made their way through to the kitchen to speak with the young street urchin called Weasel.

  ‘Would you like some soup?’ asked Motina as Weasel took a seat at the large kitchen table.

  ‘Soup and a piece of pie would be wonderful,’ replied Weasel with a twinkle in his blue-grey eyes.

  Motina arched an eyebrow then turned away before he could see the smile on her face.

  At about thirteen years old, Weasel was a small and skinny boy with bright eyes and a mass of dark unruly hair. Most wayfinders were nervous and withdrawn, but Weasel was different. He was quick-witted and resourceful, and he was also part of a community that saw things in the city that normal people tried to ignore.

  ‘So, what’s this about a job?’ he said, slurping a spoonful of soup as Fate and the Tutor sat down at the table.

  ‘Two people have gone missing,’ said Fate. ‘I wondered if you and your friends might help us find them.’

  ‘It’ll cost you,’ said Weasel as he dunked a piece of bread in his soup.

  ‘How does twenty copper sound?’ asked Fate and Weasel almost choked on his food. ‘And twenty more if you find the people we’re looking for.’

  ‘And who would that be?’ asked Weasel.

  ‘Two young men in their early twenties,’ said the Tutor. ‘One called Fidanza, a wealthy young man with sandy hair and green eyes.’

  ‘And the other?’

  ‘A man of about the same age called Luca,’ said Fate. ‘A young man of modest means, with dark hair, scarred hands and a mole at the base of his jaw.’

  ‘And where would we start looking?’ asked Weasel as the Tutor showed Weasel the portrait in the locket.

  ‘They both went missing in the First Quarter, but they could be anywhere,’ said the Tutor.

  ‘Luca is probably hiding,’ said Fate. ‘While Fidanza might just be wandering around looking lost.’

  ‘Then he should be easy to find,’ said Weasel. ‘A rich toff, wandering around like he’s lost… He’s gonna stand out a mile!’

  ‘Good,’ said Fate. ‘But you mustn’t approach either man. If you do find them, just send word and then watch them until we arrive.’

  ‘As you say, Master Fate,’ said Weasel as he finished his soup and started on a piece of apple pie. ‘Find’em and watch’em… No problem.’

  Weasel appeared to understand, but Fate was not so sure. The young wayfinder was clever, but he could also be impulsive. And when it came to a dangerous family like the Medicis, then Weasel’s boldness could easily get him into trouble.

  ‘Well, it’s too late to start looking for anyone tonight,’ said the Tutor.

  ‘Agreed,’ said Fate. ‘We shall begin our search tomorrow.’

  6

  The Sergeant

  Night was setting in as Madam de Lorni’s ‘friend’ moved slowly towards a large storm drain near the banks of the River Scéal. In truth, he was less of a friend and more of an adoring fan. He had followed the actress for years, never missing a production despite his duties as a sergeant in the city guard. He had been heartbroken when the fire ended her career, and even though her face was now marred by scars, she remained beautiful to him.

  The sergeant knew he was late in reporting back to Madam de Lorni, but he was following a lead from a reed-cutter who worked on the river. The man had reported seeing someone hiding in a storm drain and so the sergeant had come to take a look. The storm drain itself was like the mouth of a cave with a stone arch curving six feet over a paved spillway. And there, hiding in the mouth of the drain, was Luca, Madam de Lorni’s son.

  The storm drain was surrounded by a fringe of blackthorn bushes and, being careful not to alarm the young man, the sergeant picked his way slowly through the surrounding bushes.

  ‘Luca,’ he called out in low voice. ‘Is that you?’

  Clearly startled, the young man shrank back into the shadows and the sergeant stopped. The last thing he wanted was for the boy to flee into the sewers.

  ‘Wait!’ he hissed. ‘I’m a friend of your mother.’ He held up a silk scarf that Madam de Lorni had given him.

  Luca stopped as he recognised the scarf, but he was still frightened and confused.

  ‘I didn’t kill her,’ he cried.

  ‘I’m not here to judge you,’ said the sergeant, and he raised his hands away from the sword hanging from his belt. ‘I was only asked to find you.’

  Still moving slowly, he crouched in the storm drain as an agitated Luca tried to explain what had happened.

  ‘I wanted to prove that I didn’t kill her,’ said Luca, holding up a crumpled letter and a small silver bottle. ‘But I took the wrong flask.’

  ‘What do you mean - the wrong flask?’

  ‘There were two flasks, just like this one,’ said Luca. ‘But the potion was in the other one.’ He looked down at the flask in his hand. ‘If I could get the other flask, I could prove I didn’t do it.’

  ‘And where is this other flask?’ asked the sergeant.

  ‘It’s in a drinks cabinet… in the apartment of Lord Medici’s son. I thought about going back for it,’ said Luca. ‘The cabinet is just inside the drawing-room, but the patio doors are locked from the inside and breaking the glass would alert the guards.’

  ‘And this flask would prove your innocence?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Luca. ‘With this letter and the potion in the flask, I could prove what really happened.’

  ‘Then I suppose we need to get that flask,’ said the sergeant. He knew that breaking into a rich household could be dangerous. However, before becoming a soldier he had been a fairly accomplished burglar. It was risky, but the sergeant had been in love with Madam de Lorni for years, and if it meant clearing her son of the charge of murder, then he was willing to take the risk.

  ‘Why don’t you tell me where to find this drawing-room?’ said the sergeant.

  ‘But the doors are locked,’ said Luca.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said the sergeant with a smile. ‘I know a thing or two about picking locks.’

  7

  Vulpyrac’s Hound

  Inganno the potion maker was red-faced with fury when he finally returned to his expensive townhouse. Not only had he been forced to pay an extortionate bribe, but his patron’s lawyer had been unable to quash the charges.

  ‘You should be fine,’ the useless nib-scratcher had said. ‘So long as they don’t have any proof.’

  ‘Proof,’ thought Inganno.

  The man called Fate was confident that he could prove Inganno’s crimes. He and that accursed demon hunter were going to get him locked up, and that simply would not do. Inganno’s mother had once tried to curtail his freedom, threatening to send him away to a stuffy old magic school in Confluence. She had paid for that mistake, and even the doctors could not tell the difference between a natural stroke and the lethal poison with which he had killed her.

  Now it was time to take similar steps.

  Lighting a candle, he made his way down to the basement. Passing through the wine cellar, he unlocked the steel door that led to his workshop. Once inside he lit several lamps before moving to a shelf filled with rare and expensive books. He ran a limp finger over the spines of the books, reading the titles as he thought about the two men who had ruined his plans.

  ‘Poisons for Animals and Humans of a Strong Constitution,’ read one of the titles.

  ‘No,’ thought Inganno. Fate and the demon hunter might have protection against such crude concoctions.

  ‘For Treachery, Chaos and Mayhem,’ read the spine of another book.

  ‘Too unpredictable.’ There was no way he could be sure that the two men would turn against each other.

  ‘On the Conjuration and Control of Manitus and Effigies.’

  Inganno remembered being impressed by the dangerous creatures in this book, but in order for them to find their prey, the manitus needed some physical trace of the intended victim.

  Inganno’s finger s
topped and a wicked smile stretched his fleshy lips. He remembered spots of the sorcerer’s blood on the floorboards of the hall, and a small clump of the demon hunter’s hair caught on the frame of his front door. That would surely be enough.

  Removing the book from the shelf he began to turn the ancient pages. All of the conjurations required potion lore and some carefully spoken incantations, but most were within the limits of his skill. He read about effigies that could move through a building like smoke to throttle the intended victim. And others that were little more than sounds, disembodied voices that could drive a person insane by whispering words of madness to haunt them in their sleep.

  And then he came to a page with the title…

  Vulpyrac’s Hound

  Inganno smiled as he read the main ingredients: mercury, sulphur, powdered diamond and tar. He had everything that was required; indeed he kept a large barrel of tar in the corner of his workshop. It might take some time to perfect the incantations, but he was sure he could do it.

  Vulpyrac’s Hound…. A creature of mercury and tar with teeth and claws as hard as diamonds.

  Yes, that would do nicely.

  ‘It creeps like a shadow across the ground,’ Inganno read. ‘Seeping through keyholes and under doors until it finds its prey, whereupon it will rise up, taking on the form of a great and ravenous hound. Steel cannot harm it, armour cannot stop it. The hound will keep on attacking until the intended targets are dead.’

  ‘No wonder this book was outlawed,’ breathed Inganno with delight.

  For a moment longer he looked at the terrifying sketch of the sleek and terrible hound, then he went in search of a demon hunter’s hair and the dried blood of a sorcerer called Fate.

  8

  A Butcher’s Cleaver and the Sewers of Guile

  It was now fully dark. The moon shone through a veil of low cloud, and the sergeant was running for his life.

  Breaking into the Medici mansion had been easy. The sergeant merely climbed over the perimeter wall and crossed the gardens to the patio doors that Luca had described. A quick bit of lock-smithery and the doors were opened.

  The cold drinks cabinet was exactly where Luca had said it would be, and it should have been a simple thing to retrieve the potion flask and disappear into the night. However, he was just closing the patio doors when an interior door opened and a man entered the room. The man was tall, and it appeared that he could see in the dark because his head immediately turned in the direction of the sergeant.

  However, it was not until two armed guards entered the room with lanterns that the sergeant got a good look at the tall figure that seemed to be looking directly at him.

  Dressed in the crimson robes of a desert nomad, he wore a curved sword on his hip. His head was covered by a headscarf that obscured half his face, including his eyes and nose. The lower part of his face was branded with arcane symbols, but it was not the livid brands that filled the sergeant with fear; it was the fact that the nomad’s lips were stitched together with thick silver thread. The sergeant turned and fled, throwing himself over the perimeter wall as the Medici guards chased him into the night.

  Now he was running through the narrow streets of Guile, desperately trying to outrun the guards and the nomad in the crimson desert robes. The mysterious figure appeared to be blindfolded, but the sergeant was now convinced that the terrifying man could see through walls.

  Trying to catch his breath, the sergeant ducked into a narrow wynd as the Medici guards carried on past on the main road. Hugging the damp stone wall, he waited in the shadows, listening as the sound of running feet faded into the distance.

  Face dripping with sweat, the sergeant breathed a sigh of relief. He had lost them. Peering out from his hiding place he waited another minute before leaving the shadows of the narrow wynd. He now knew that breaking into the Medici mansion had been a foolish mistake. Madam de Lorni’s only chance of helping her son was to tell the authorities, and hope that the constables and magistrates were not in the pay of the Medicis.

  Pausing to get his bearings, the sergeant turned in the direction of his home then skidded to a halt as a tall figure stepped out in front of him. It was the nomad.

  Backing away he turned to flee but the nomad thrust out his arm and the sergeant felt an invisible hand grab the front of his leather tunic. Two of the Medici guards now appeared beside the nomad and one of them walked forward to stand before the captive man.

  ‘Why did you break into the master’s house?’ The man’s mouth moved but the voice that emerged from his lips was not his own. ‘What were you looking for?’

  The sergeant was terrified. He stared at the blindfolded figure of the nomad, even though it was the normal guard who spoke.

  ‘I was just looking for money,’ he lied. ‘Silver or jewellery… anything I could sell.’ The sergeant did not consider himself a brave man, but he would not betray Madam de Lorni’s son if he could help it.

  The nomad tilted his head slightly and his sewn lips curled up in a sneer.

  ‘Please,’ begged the sergeant. ‘I didn’t take anything.’

  But the nomad was not listening. The direction of his ‘blindfolded’ gaze shifted to someone standing behind the sergeant.

  ‘Take him,’ said the guard whose voice was being used by the nomad, and before he could do anything else, the sergeant felt a strong hand close around his mouth as he was dragged backwards into a blind alley where another figure was waiting.

  Cries of pain echoed around the alley and it did not take long before the sergeant gave up the location of Luca’s hiding place. His description was babbling and incoherent, but the Medici guards now had a good idea of where to focus their search.

  ‘Make sure the body is found,’ commanded the nomad as the sergeant was forced to the ground.

  The sergeant’s eyes stretched wide as a figure loomed over him, and there was just enough light for him to see the object it was holding, an object that filled his mind with terror. It was a knife, a knife with a heavy rectangular blade, a knife commonly known as a butcher’s cleaver.

  The sergeant opened his mouth to scream, but the cleaver came chopping down and the scream never left his throat.

  *

  Back in the storm drain, Luca still held the crumpled letter in his hand as he waited for his mother’s friend to return. It was now about two hours since the sergeant had gone to retrieve the potion flask from the Medici mansion. A gibbous moon shone through a layer of cloud and Luca emerged from the cave-like entrance, peering through the surrounding bushes to see if there was any sign of the sergeant’s return.

  Feeling alone and hopeless, he was trying to decide what he should do when he heard a noise. Edging back towards his hiding place, he looked along the riverbank where the dark silhouettes of three men could now be seen against the moonlit sheen on the surface of the river.

  They were looking for something…

  They were looking for him.

  The three figures came steadily closer and, even in the darkness, Luca could tell that the tallest of the men was different. Somehow this tall figure filled him with dread. Trembling with fear he backed into the storm drain, but then the tall figure turned in his direction as if it knew he was there.

  Luca was just about to flee when a strong hand closed around his mouth and he was dragged backwards into darkness. Dropping the letter, he tried to break free, but it was no good. Whatever had grabbed him was far too strong and there was nothing he could do as he disappeared into the nightmare sewers of Guile.

  9

  The Search Begins

  The following morning was overcast with low cloud and light rain. Moving around the kitchen of Blackfell House, Motina muttered to herself as she put together a basket of food for Madam de Lorni who had returned home in the early hours of the morning.

  ‘You did tell her that she’s welcome to stay here,’ said Fate as he and the Tutor ate breakfast at the table.

  ‘Of course,’ said Motina. ‘But she
insisted on going home. She wants to be there in case Luca returns. And I told her that you will do everything possible to find her son.’

  ‘We’ll do our best,’ said Fate as the Tutor gave him a furtive look of concern.

  Sitting in silence the two men finished their breakfast before leaving Blackfell House to begin their search.

  ‘So where shall we start?’ said the Tutor as they passed through the gate in the perimeter fence.

  ‘Well, Weasel is talking to the wayfinders,’ said Fate. ‘So, I think we should pay a visit to the Medicis.’

  ‘Straight to the scene of the crime, eh?’

  ‘Precisely.’

  And so they made their way into the most affluent part of the city, to a white marble mansion set in extensive grounds. The main entrance featured two wrought iron gates, each emblazoned with an ornate golden ‘M’, leaving people in no doubt that this was the home of Lord Salvestro Medici, the head of a family that boasted connections to the emperor himself.

  10

  Sienna Blade

  As Fate and the Tutor approached the gates of the Medici mansion, a young woman called Sienna Blade had just returned to the Port City of Dymhaven. Dressed like a man in breeches, boots and travel cloak, she rode into the stableyard of Amos Saddler, a great bear-of-a-man who had once been a friend of her father.

  ‘So, how did it go?’ asked Amos as he stroked the horse’s nose. ‘Or shouldn’t I ask?’

  ‘Actually,’ said Sienna. ‘The only thing I killed was a demon.’

  Amos raised his eyebrows in surprise. Sienna, like her father, had chosen the life of a hired sword.

  ‘And did you find who you were looking for?’

  ‘I did,’ said Sienna. ‘But it turns out that he wasn’t the man I thought he was.’

  The man in question was Decimus Fate. Sienna had always believed that the sorcerer murdered her father. She had travelled to Guile seeking revenge only to learn that her father had asked Fate to kill him in order to save her life. With a sigh, she passed the reins to Amos and slid down from the saddle.