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

by Peter A Flannery

‘Of course, my Lord,’ said the valet.

  ‘And put out the word,’ Medici continued, his tone darkening with resolve. ‘I want Fate found.’

  ‘The Council of the Damned, my Lord? Like we did for the servant?’

  ‘That could take too long,’ said Medici. ‘I want this over quickly.’

  ‘A reward for anyone in the city then?’ suggested the valet.

  ‘That’ll do for the carrot,’ said Medici.

  ‘And for the stick, my Lord?’

  ‘Let it be known that I will kill one random citizen each day at sunset until the sorcerer is delivered to me. I won’t feel safe until I know that Fate is dead.’

  37

  In the House of Master Veleno

  As the leader of a large criminal organisation, Master Veleno was not easily unsettled. His influence in Guile meant that there were few threats to a person like him, but even he was wary of upsetting a powerful family like the Medicis. The normally suave man yawned as he sat in the throne-like chair of a grand reception room. Wearing an expression of suspicion, he looked down at the young street urchin who had got him out of bed. The boy had spoken clearly, but Veleno shook his head as if he had misheard the request.

  ‘He wants me to do what?’ he asked, staring at Weasel as he turned Fate’s dagger over in his hands.

  ‘He wants you to dump his corpse at the gates of Lord Medici’s mansion,’ said Weasel.

  The young wayfinder had never been in such a grand house before and his mind was overwhelmed by the sheer opulence of the place. Like everyone else, Weasel knew of Veleno’s love of gold. Indeed, much of that gold was on display in the room, including one impressive piece that made Weasel feel distinctly uncomfortable.

  It was a life-sized statue made entirely from gold. It was by far the most realistic statue that Weasel had ever seen and he kept glancing at it as if he expected it to suddenly come to life.

  ‘And why would Fate want me to dump his corpse?’ asked Veleno.

  Weasel was about to answer, but then he stopped himself and looked at the guards and Veleno’s personal magic-user who was standing nearby. The magic-user, in particular, seemed especially interested, but Weasel did not trust him. The man’s expression suggested anger and bitterness, and the left side of his face appeared to be formed from some kind of smoky black glass.

  Veleno noticed Weasel’s hesitation and waved his men out of the room.

  ‘Out!’ he commanded. ‘All of you, out! You too, Xanda,’ he added when the magic-user did not move.

  The man called Xanda was clearly frustrated by the order to leave, but finally he left the room and closed the doors.

  ‘Now,’ said Veleno. ‘Tell me why my old friend would want me to carry out such a bizarre and unexpected task.’

  ‘Because he killed Lord Medici’s son,’ said Weasel, and the Lord of the City was suddenly wide awake.

  ‘Alonso?’ he said and Weasel nodded. ‘Fate has killed Alonso Medici?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Weasel.

  ‘Good!’ said Veleno with conviction. ‘That young whelp always was a sadistic little shit.’ He leaned forward and his eyes glinted with mischief as he beckoned Weasel to come closer. ‘Now,’ he whispered as a conspiratorial smile spread across his face. ‘What’s the plan?’

  38

  The Juoda Pakta

  As Weasel explained what Fate had in mind, so dawn was breaking over the grounds of the Medici mansion. It was a bitter morning and the manicured lawns were white with frost as Lord Medici stood on the grass with his personal valet.

  ‘It’s very cold, my Lord,’ said the valet. ‘Wouldn’t you rather summon the dark sisters in the drawing-room?’

  ‘No,’ said Medici shaking his head. ‘This needs to be done outside.’

  ‘And will they arrive on broomsticks?’ asked the valet without any trace of sarcasm.

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ said Medici as he stared down at the Black Pact medallion with its disturbing design of the three-fingered hand. ‘Do you have the payment?’ he asked and the valet’s lip curled in distaste.

  ‘I do, my Lord,’ said the valet, holding up three leather pouches of differing size.

  The smallest pouch contained five carats of the purest rubies crushed into a fine powder. The second held twenty ounces of pure gold. While the third was damp with the blood of thirteen severed fingers that Medici’s guards had somehow acquired from the poorer quarters of Guile.

  ‘What next?’ asked the valet as he held the bloody pouch away from his body.

  ‘Just a drop of my blood on the medallion,’ said Medici. With that, he took a fine silver lancet and made a small nick on the side of his hand. Then, holding his hand over the medallion, he squeezed out a single drop. The bead of blood appeared to soak into the medallion and the three-fingered hand suddenly flared as the thirteen symbols began to glow.

  ‘They’re coming,’ said Medici as the cold morning air grew even colder.

  ‘There!’ said the valet as a nearby patch of grass began to steam and smoke as if it were being scorched by some intense heat from below. ‘And there,’ he repeated as several more patches appeared.

  Even as they watched, the grass in each patch burned black and the smoke rose up to form columns of writhing shadow; thirteen columns of smoke that slowly coalesced into the forms of thirteen women. The women were thin and dressed in sackcloth with skin the colour of ash. The tops of their heads were shaved to leave a fringe of dark hair hanging down over their back and shoulders. And each of them wore a belt of rope from which hung various leather pouches plus a number of dark crystal spheres held in crude string nets.

  The witches were largely indistinguishable from each other, but one individual stood out. Slightly taller and standing more upright, this woman had the bearing of a leader. Her ash-coloured face was marked by a white cross that extended across her eyes, down through her lips and up over her bald and cindered skull. For a moment the witches took in their surroundings and then the leader turned to look at Lord Medici.

  ‘Who invokes the protection of the Juoda Pakta?’ she asked.

  ‘I do,’ said Medici holding up the medallion.

  ‘Against which threat?’

  ‘A sorcerer,’ said Medici. ‘A man by the name of Decimus Fate.’

  ‘The slayer,’ said the witch and her sunken eyes seemed to pulse with darkness. ‘This man is known to us,’ she continued with a sneer that revealed black and rotten teeth. ‘It will be a pleasure for the dark sisters to serve.’

  She gestured to one of her fellow witches who came forward to take the three pouches from the valet. As she did so, Medici noticed that the first finger from her left hand was missing.

  ‘You will stay until he is dead?’ asked Medici trying to hide his fear.

  ‘Or until we take him alive,’ said the witch.

  39

  Two of Him

  The Butcher’s cave was filled with a cold white light as Fate lay back on the waist-high block of stone. On the slab beside him lay the lifeless body of Alonso Medici.

  ‘There’s no need to do the whole body,’ said Fate as he rested his head on the stone. ‘We’re about the same height, and of similar build, so just focus on the face, hands and some of the tattoos. But be careful not to copy them exactly,’ he added. ‘I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.’

  Samuel nodded his understanding. ‘The process is painful,’ he said. ‘Normally it would be done over several different sessions.’

  ‘We don’t have time for that,’ said Fate. ‘Just do what you need to do.’

  To one side of the cave stood the Tutor with Cradlop and Luca.

  ‘It does hurt,’ said Luca. ‘I could only stand it for a few minutes at a time.’

  ‘It’s his choice,’ said the Tutor looking at the concentration on Fate’s face. ‘People like Fate are no stranger to pain.’

  Luca and Cradlop turned to look at the demon hunter. The Tutor was referring to the sorcerer, but somehow they knew that he was al
so talking about himself.

  With everything ready, Samuel moved to stand between the two lying figures. Reaching out, he laid a hand on Fate’s chest in the way a doctor might try to calm a nervous patient.

  ‘Try to remain still,’ he told the sorcerer. ‘And just let me know if you want to stop.’

  Fate dipped his head to show that he understood, and Samuel extended his arms until his hands hovered over the two men’s faces. Then the big man closed his eyes, and the Tutor sensed a tingle of magical energy as Samuel’s brows came together in a frown of concentration. The replicantis slowed his breathing and his pale body began to pulse with a faint white light. The pulse slowed until it matched the rhythm of Samuel’s heartbeat and a faint mist began to form over the bare skin of his arms.

  As the Tutor watched, he saw the mist flow down Samuel’s arms until it was concentrated around his hands and filled the air above the faces of the two men on the slabs.

  ‘This is when it starts to happen,’ whispered Luca, and Cradlop made a guttural noise of agreement. ‘It feels cold,’ Luca went on. ‘Like a cold mist that burns your skin with a thousand tiny pinpricks.’

  The Tutor glanced at the young man who had gone through this procedure himself. Luca’s own doppelganger had been stored away in a lower chamber that always remained cold. This delayed the process of decay, but they would need to dispose of the body soon.

  ‘Look!’ said Luca. ‘Samuel is starting to copy Lord Fate.’

  Looking back up to the slabs, the Tutor could now see a rhythmic pulse of light passing through the mist. The pulse began in the cloud covering Fate’s face, travelled up the mist on Samuel’s arm, across his shoulders and down to the other arm into the cloud of mist covering Alonso’s face. Matched to the slow beating of Samuel’s heart, the pulses of light continued in a series of gentle waves.

  ‘It really does hurt,’ murmured Luca, and now the Tutor could see Fate’s hands clenched tight by his side as he resisted the pain of this magical process.

  ‘By now it feels like your skin is being peeled away,’ said Luca. ‘It still feels cold, but it burns like hell.’

  In the silence of the cave they could just hear the faint sound of Fate’s constrained breathing; the only audible sign of the intense pain that he now endured.

  ‘How long does it take?’ asked the Tutor.

  ‘A couple of hours for the face,’ said Luca; ‘a few more to do the hands and tattoos.’

  ‘Two hours for the face!’ thought the Tutor. He knew from his own experience that pain seemed to slow the passage of time, and he wondered if Fate would tap his hand to indicate that he needed a break.

  But no, the stoic sorcerer remained still and uncomplaining. In fact, it was Samuel who needed to take breaks as the strain of the magical process took its toll. However, by early afternoon it was done. The pulsing white light faded, the mist dispersed and Samuel took a step backwards, stumbling with fatigue as he leaned on one of the slabs. Moving away from the wall, the others now came forward to see if he was all right.

  ‘I’m fine,’ said the replicantis. ‘A little drained, but I’m fine.’

  Luca held out a stone tumbler of water and then Cradlop helped Samuel over to the side of the cave where he sat down heavily on a crude stone bench.

  Now, the Tutor turned his attention to Fate.

  ‘Can you hear me?’ he asked, for the sorcerer was still lying with his eyes closed and his hands clenched tight. ‘Decimus?’ pressed the Tutor. ‘Are you…’

  ‘Just give me a minute,’ said Fate and slowly his fists unclenched and he opened his mouth to stretch the muscles of his jaw. ‘That… was unpleasant,’ he said, and the Tutor could only smile at the understatement.

  Fate blinked a few times then he opened his eyes and took the Tutor’s arm as he slowly sat up. He swung his legs over the side of the slab and gave a nod of thanks as the Tutor handed him a tumbler of water. The sorcerer took a few sips as the two men looked across to the body of Alonso Medici who was now the spitting image of Fate.

  ‘That’s uncanny,’ said the Tutor, then he glanced at Fate who was studying ‘himself’ with a critical eye. ‘Don’t you find that unsettling?’ continued the Tutor, ‘to be looking at a perfect copy of yourself.’

  The corners of Fate’s mouth turned down and he raised his eyebrows as if it was not so unusual.

  ‘I once knew a sorcerer who transfigured his own features to look like me.’

  The Tutor just stared at him.

  ‘The man tried to kill me and steal my identity.’ Fate eased himself off the slab and went over to study Alonso more closely. ‘That sorcerer’s imitation was impressive, but it was nothing compared to this.’ He leaned down to examine Samuel’s work more closely. ‘Incredible,’ he breathed, then he reached out to open Alonso’s eyes. ‘And you even managed to replicate the eyes.’

  ‘They caused me some trouble,’ said Samuel as he sipped his water and rested his head against the wall of the cave. ‘It was as if they resisted the process.’

  ‘The eyes of a feral mage contain their own inherent magic,’ said Fate. ‘They’re like a signature that can’t be forged.’

  ‘It looks just like you,’ said Luca as he and Cradlop came over to view Samuel’s work.

  ‘Good,’ said Fate. ‘Lord Medici won’t drop his guard unless he is convinced that I am dead.’

  ‘What next?’ asked Samuel.

  ‘We wait for Weasel to return with Fate’s clothes,’ said the Tutor.

  ‘He’s here,’ rumbled Cradlop as he turned towards the entrance to the cave. ‘And someone else too.’

  They turned to follow the line of his gaze and soon they could all hear the echoing sound of someone approaching.

  ‘I got them,’ said Weasel, holding up a bundle of Fate’s robes as he entered the cave.

  ‘Wait for me, you fleet-footed sewer rat!’ said a voice behind him, and Fate recognised that familiar tone of annoyance.

  It was Motina.

  ‘She made me bring her,’ said Weasel when he noticed the disapproving glint in Fate’s dark eyes.

  ‘You’re damn right, I did,’ said Motina as the small hunchbacked woman hobbled into the cave. ‘If you are going up against the dark sisters of the Black Pact, then I am going with you.’

  ‘But we’re not going against the dark sisters,’ said Fate. ‘The whole idea is to get them to leave so we can get to Medici.’

  Holding one of Fate’s glowing blue crystals, Motina was watching where she put her feet. However, as she entered the brighter space she came to a stop and looked up, her small eyes bright with interest as she took in the various people in the cave.

  ‘You must be Cradlop,’ she said as she approached the broad-shouldered troglodyte.

  Cradlop dipped his head.

  ‘And Luca,’ said Motina taking Madam de Lorni’s son into a thin-armed embrace. ‘Your mother misses you terribly.’ She reached up to touch his face. ‘I’m sorry we couldn’t make things right for you.’

  ‘I’m alive,’ said Luca. ‘And I’ll see my mother again, someday.’

  Motina’s eyes glistened as she patted his cheek.

  ‘And you must be Samuel,’ she continued.

  ‘I am,’ said Samuel with a weary smile.

  ‘I hear you’re a replicantis,’ said Motina. ‘That skill began as a form of healing… did you know?’

  Samuel nodded.

  ‘My mother was a healer,’ he said and Motina’s face beamed with pleasure.

  ‘Then I look forward to hearing all about her,’ she said before turning to Fate with an expectant expression.

  ‘And this,’ said the sorcerer with a little shake of his head, ‘is Varna Motina, my… housekeeper.’

  With a small bow, Motina took her leave of Samuel and walked towards the two slabs at the centre of the cave.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ murmured Fate as she came closer. ‘You should be resting.’

  ‘I’m not as frail as I look.’ Moti
na’s tone was indignant.

  ‘But you don’t even have a wand,’ insisted Fate.

  Without looking at him, Motina held up a thin rod of hazel that had clearly just been freshly cut and trimmed from the garden. Fate gave a sigh.

  ‘That won’t tolerate any kind of power,’ he hissed.

  ‘It’ll be enough to take down one of those Black Pact harpies,’ said Motina as she moved forward to look at the dead body lying on the slab.

  ‘Oh, may the heavens help us!’ she cried as she looked from Fate to the transfigured body of Alonso. ‘Now there are two of him!’

  40

  Deception

  As Samuel worked on replicating Fate, so word began to spread about the reward for a sorcerer and the threat of retaliation if the sorcerer in question was not found. Not everyone in Guile heard this news. Such information tended to proliferate among the more unsavoury elements of a city, and there was always some confusion.

  Was it any sorcerer?

  And who was this person called Fate?

  Most people in the city were unaware of such a man, while others knew him only as the Sage of Blackfell House, or the man in the charcoal grey robes. But one thing was certain… once Medici started killing random citizens then Fate’s anonymity would come to an end.

  ‘We need to act before sunset,’ said Fate as he looked towards the main gate of Medici’s mansion with Motina and the Tutor. ‘The whole city will turn against me once people start dying, and I won’t allow innocent people to be killed because of me.’

  They were standing in the corner of a small park just up the road from the main entrance to Medici’s grounds. A thick stand of laurel bushes provided the perfect hiding place. From here, they could not only watch the gate, they could also see through into the grounds themselves.

  ‘We just have to hope that Medici is fooled by Samuel’s handiwork,’ said the Tutor. ‘We can handle a few guards, but there’s no way we can reach Medici with all those witches patrolling the grounds.’