by Chris Turner
They passed several dim portals. Five subchambers down showed tarnished, brass doorways, each clamped shut.
One mouldering doorway still dangled open; Baus deigned to poke his head in and immediately he felt chill vapours sliding in and out. An intense odour hung in the air, like rat dung, or some stagnant water from an open cistern. The tightly-woven space was cramped with a criss-crossing of ledges and banisters, cabinets, compartments and components, in which, to his little surprise, a glut of packrat oddments resided: ibex skulls, wegmor horns, bison antlers, rabbit feet, ox teeth, mortars, pestles, flasks. There were belts, leathers, hides. In the chamber adjacent they discovered a catacomb jammed with an unlikely profusion of broken antiques, rakes, hews, mauls, pylons, chests, traps, bones, gnarls, whips, lures, nets, wire. What a packrat this Dakkaw was! Almost inaudibly they could hear his low-pitched grumbles wafting from the floorboards above as he stood trussed and seething. The sounds were pitched in casually triumphant cadences—which seemed to suggest the ogre knew into exactly which chamber they traveled.
Baus expunged his growing trepidations. The main passage branched right, then left, then he stopped short, holding his breath sharply. To lose oneself in the Dakkaw’s maze would be foolhardy misfortune. Who knew what labyrinthine terrors lay in wait in Bisiguth’s crypts? To stumble upon some unimaginable thing and save the Dakkaw the unpleasant task of disposing of the two of them, was unacceptable.
Baus edged his way toward the wall. He was about to urge Valere to do the same when all of a sudden they heard a faint mewling cry softly in the dimness.
It came in plaintive fits and starts, then a sound of low repetition and hopeless terror, which sent chills down their spines.
Baus flung himself into a crouch. The sound was real, coming from one of the larger spaces off the main corridor.
The moan lingered, past a rotting beam where clotted remnants of webs hung. From here issued a soft whooshing, which proved to be a procession of gimlet bats.
The call resumed itself: a piteous, wretched wail, devoid of any sane emotion.
Cautiously the two explorers crept forward. They ducked their heads. A low arch heralded a wide chamber. The entablature, as Baus noted, was ancient and marred with thick coats of dust and spider dung. Valere followed no more than a hair’s breadth behind Baus, as if assured of a margin of safety by shadowing his peer. The two wedged themselves between the entranceway, plucking torches like ragbag thieves. The murk was illuminated to reveal a sizeable room held aloft by two round limestone pillars. A figure, hanging upside down from a chain was visible in the room’s center.
The man, or what they perceived as a man, was hooked a mere few inches above an iron-strapped barrel. A matted tangle of curls fell low. The barrel was filled to the brim with an offensive liquid, rippling occasionally. Chains were wrapped around the figure’s ankles, from which the frail limbs were strung up from the ceiling. The man’s legs were pulled tight with his weight, his thin arms dangled loosely, slack as fishing wire. He twirled slowly—like some piece of cod on an odd string. He wore a pair of cut-off green dungarees, a soiled brown shirt, a tattered bandanna, all clinging to his emaciated frame like slimy rags. A complicated apparatus was connected to the chain—levers, ratchets, pulleys—the like of which was supported by a bizarre wooden scaffolding. The sudden light of torches seemed to hurt his eyes and he clamped them shut with all his waning strength, but he could not cover them completely because his hands were bound behind his back.
Valere fumbled along the nearest wall to light a rusty wall-sconce.
Baus moved in closer, afraid to peer into those strange eyes that surely must stare hollowly back at him. In the midst, he stumbled over a beat-up bucket. The gaunt, pinched face wrenched itself about, struggling to show a ghastly smear of welts, pimples and sucker marks edged from chin to brow.
The dry mouth wheezed—a ragged, phlegmy sound: “Come again so soon, Dakkaw? Well, do your mischief! Your poor wastrel is immune to your abuses!”
Baus discerned that the figure was not an old man, perhaps six years older than himself, though he was extraordinarily haggard and dishevelled of frame beyond his years. An ankle brace drilled into the back wall with a loop chain was from where he guessed the ogre played a hanging game with him. Game completed, the ogre was content to leave him shackled—with the spiders.
“Why don’t you speak?” the figure croaked wretchedly.
“We are not the Dakkaw,” came Baus’s emotionless reply.
The prisoner struggled to peer up at his new visitors, but his eyes were mal-adjusted to the light and his attempts only brought him frustration.
Baus offered a commiserating shrug; he forwarded his credentials. “I am Baus of Heagram, an explorer—this is Valere, my seafaring associate. We visit Bisiguth only to drop in, courtesy of the ogre. Look at what we find! Cedrek, the butcher’s son.”
“I am he!” affirmed the hanging man with a thin snarl. “Cedrek, son of Halfhan, son of Golfan. But how is it that you attend me unescorted? The Dakkaw permits no one to roam about his underground lairs but he.”
Baus responded in an affected voice, “Suffice it to say that the Dakkaw is currently ‘indisposed’.”
“Mollymuffins!” rasped Cedrek. “Do not lay fibs on me. The Dakkaw would boil your bones and suck its juice before he would let you walk here.” The butcher’s son tried to untwirl himself but was unable to do so. He became increasingly agitated. Meanwhile Valere was busy studying the mechanism of chains and gears. It was complex. He lifted a pawl. It sent the chain grinding down a few notches and Cedrek’s nose plunged headily into the wine-coloured liquid, prompting a torrential gasp of sputters.
Valere hastily rewound the ratchet; Cedrek bobbed up to normal height, spewing water and cursing.
“Imbeciles!” he cursed. “You are as heedless as koots, no less the bully Dakkaw, who persists in dunking my head in this swiresucker vat for his own amusement!”
“Our sincerest apologies,” mumbled Baus. “The mechanism is rusty, unreliably old.”
“Apologies?” spat Cedrek. “Fine and nice! Let us see you dunk your head in this grape juice, then all these ‘sorries’ will be amended.”
Baus held up a placating hand. “No need for such irritable remarks, Cedrek. The pawl is obviously flawed and easy for an unfamiliar hand to let slip.”
Valere nodded and twirled a finger at the gearworks.
Baus studied the barrel with its viscous contents. A curious perplexity infused his expression. Alerted by the prospect of feeding, several fish-things swarmed to the surface in red and gold numbers. Baus thought it was an uncommon genus of ‘porpsons’—or vicious ‘swiresucker’, a bottom feeder, whose leech-like orifice easily clamped onto anything for nourishment. Baus reflected: the avidity of the fish explained the rather shabby condition of Cedrek’s face.
Sputtering rancour, Cedrek could not yet adequately discern the fantastic visitors that remained just out of visible view, a fact which seemed to unnerve him even more. The water stung his eyes, acrid from the defecation of the swiresuckers.
Baus surveyed the ‘tank’ with sombre-eyed scrutiny. He advanced to better study the ‘hanging apparatus’ which the Dakkaw had cleverly concocted. Instantly his eyes shot up in recognition. “What an ungainly appliance the Dakkaw has built for you, Cedrek! Your plight intrigues me! What deeds have brought you floating over a horrid barrel of porpsons? Truthfully, I am at a loss; I am in awe of the circumstance. The Dakkaw’s tales are surely fulsome—but we would like to know the bare truth.”
Cedrek’s manner grew more unpleasantly terse. “It is an enthralling chronicle, with which I shall certainly entertain guests at a later time, however currently I am under duress and I would urge you to assist me! Currently I am unable to disengage myself from this apparatus.”
“The fact speaks plainly enough,” agreed Baus.
“Well, I’m glad that we concur on at least one point. Now! Fetch me the Dakkaw’s key, so that I may
loose myself from these abominable chains. My legs creak with grievous aches and chills. Hastily, lagbags!”
Baus put on a grimacing frown: “Let us not become overeager, Cedrek. Gaps are still outstanding in regard to your histories and exploits. Since I am an individual who analyzes details before committing deeds, I must learn more about your predicament.”
Cedrek considered Baus’s line of reasoning fastidious, but Baus reiterated his concern of loosing a known felon into the world.
“The sentiment is irrelevant!” shrilled Cedrek. “Now unshackle me and you shall hear everything in its entirety!”
“That is a presumptuous demand!” Baus cried. “If this is how you wish to play it out, Cedrek, then—” He issued signals to Valere who, leading the way out of the chamber, chuckled consentingly. Cedrek, upon hearing the sounds of retreat, jerked his neck about with alarm and indignation.
“Where are you going?”
“To New Krintz,” replied Baus. “My colleague and I have important business there.”
“Business?” cried Cedrek in spite. “What kind of business?”
“Obligations and transactions, nothing more; they will brook no delay. The Dakkaw is an incisive fellow.”
Cedrek gave a bray of sullen laughter. “Are you telling me you conduct deeds with the Dakkaw? He will boil your skulls, grind your femurs to meal. The day he lets you leave this warren is the day he lets you simmer in his stewpot.”
“This may well be true,” observed Baus. “But no doubt we have maintained an upper hand on the Dakkaw’s roguery.”
“Blather!” shrilled Cedrek.
Baus peered around, frowning. “I do not like that tone, Cedrek. Now, where is that cock-eyed key? I see it nowhere in this dog-kennel.”
“Have you no eyes? It hangs on the wall, plain as a lily!”
Baus and Valere scoured the walls but they could spy no key or pin, prompting Baus to scratch at his chin with wonder. Perhaps Cedrek’s extended sojourn had caused him hallucinations?
Cedrek’s voice escalated to a peevish whine, which only affirmed Baus’s suspicion. “Why tarry, hounds?” the prisoner yelled. “You only have to snag the key and bring it down from its perch, unclasp the rings binding my ankles and save me from falling. Surely you jest in regards to all this talk of transactions with the Dakkaw? Are you comics, or halfwits?”
Baus’s tolerance reached a threshold. He demurred. “Not at all, Cedrek,” he replied coldly. “Acts as this would conflict with our covenant with the Dakkaw, thus making us mean and dishonourable men—wouldn’t it, Valere?”
“Very much so,” remarked Valere gravely.
Cedrek howled: “Get me down from here, you rotten knaves! Retards is a better word!”
“Now you have gone and done it,” rebuked Baus sternly. “Insults are an irrevocable breach. Shall you do the honours, Valere?”
“Gladly.” The seaman took the ganglestick from his hand and issued Cedrek a stiff rap on the chest.
The ingrate refused to freeze. The chest was clothed of material, a circumstance which Baus explained as the source of the misfire.
Valere recognized the mistake; jocundly he stripped Cedrek of his shirt while reaching for his fish-white body, at which point, Cedrek burst into a tirade of invective.
Rapping Cedrek’s bare throat with the ganglestick, Valere grunted as Cedrek finally became still, like a beast draining blood at the abattoir.
Satisfied with the work, Baus took back the baton and the two retraced their steps, pausing on the way back to gather up a length of chain and several shackles which they had found hid in a cobwebbed crate in one of the store rooms.
Valere showed a lukewarm grimace. “I do not like Cedrek’s attitude; his manners are crass.”
“He is an ill-mannered, pugnacious loon, agreed,” said Baus. “I can see why the Dakkaw became irascible with him. Cedrek shall have the time he needs to reflect on his many slips of tongue.”
Valere gave his head a knowing shake. “At least this chain should do the trick to bind the Dakkaw’s limbs. I harbour little trust in the ropes we currently use. On the way to Krintz, chains of this sort will be of utility.”
Baus nodded approval. “The Dakkaw is an artful creature. We must be prudent and wary.”
“Absolutely.”
“And intelligent, no less!” cried Baus, flourishing his bodkin.
* * *
The two gained Bisiguth’s main floor and found Rilben unsuccessfully attempting to free the Dakkaw’s knots and restraints. Valere shouted an oath and shooed him away. The grimacing creature disappeared into the gloom and was nowhere to be seen. The Dakkaw’s wrists were still bound. He could not pull free, and Valere’s rope-tightening earlier had proven fortuitous. Now he chain-shackled him double-tight for security before they herded him to the looming portal. Valere unlocked the ancient mechanism and stared for some time at the ogre’s impudent posture. The seaman slid back the heavy bolts; Baus stood ever ready to administer a punitive measure with the ganglestick should the ogre attempt an indiscretion.
The sky was clear; the stars burned above like fireflies. A light breeze pushed down from the northerly skies, urging murmurs through the weeds in the rubbled court. Baus drew in a welcome draught. How glorious it was to be in the air, not cloistered in desolate Bisiguth!
“What of Rilben?” grumbled Valere.
Baus waved off the ape as if he mattered little. “Rilben will have to fend for himself.”
Cedrek and Rilben were willingly and gratefully left behind.
With utmost wariness, Valere kept strict control over the Dakkaw, via the cord tied round his neck. Baus proposed it would be of better service to hitch the Dakkaw to his own wagon for transport. Valere enthusiastically endorsed the concept and before long, they were sitting up in the wagon like kings. They lit their torches, while the Dakkaw pulled the cart out of the courtyard and onto the main, north-south promenade. He seethed with annoyance. The rubbled path sheened in the moonlight, spectral cobbles glinting like bone. The thoroughfare meandered toward the shadows of the ruined plaza a hundred yards distant. Behind, Bisiguth spread like a blue-black mantle of faraway enchantment from an earlier time.
The dazzling stars tumbled away. The companions were well past the crumbling gates of Old Krintz when the last tottering statues of the old city fell behind. They were left with a barely-discernible flagstoned path. It too dwindled to a ghost-shadow and forced them out on a grassy sward where hedge and gorse loomed under the glare of brands.
“On, Dakkaw, on!” cried Baus impatiently. “To New Krintz.”
“To New Krintz!” the Dakkaw muttered. He seemed equipped with more energy than would be imagined. “Drearily it is to Krintz I toil to win my bride!”
Baus gave a loud acclamation to the ambition.
Valere chuckled knowingly. “If this damsel you covet is as enchanting as you describe, then all your slogging will be worth it, eh, Dakkaw?”
“Your words are as insolent as you are, Captain. But they indicate truth. However, I urge you to minimize your sarcasm.”
“If she is that haunting and spellbinding,” Baus announced, “perhaps I will take her for my own.”
The Dakkaw halted the cart and stared coldly at Baus for some time. He growled, “Over my dead body!”
“A jest only,” assured Baus. “Do not become over-petulant, Dakkaw! At present we proceed to Krintz in amity!”
The Dakkaw snorted, disliking Baus’s smiling insincerity. He gave his neck a jerk, took up the reins, bounded forward with Herculean force. The cart jolted ahead. They were bound for New Krintz.
CHAPTER 4
SILSOOR
“A lord can only be master of his house, if he does not fear the dark . . .”
—Anonymous saying.
I
The wind died and the air was very still, yet the long night was only beginning. Despite the jaunty songs that Valere and Baus sung from their lofty perches, the oppressive memories of Bisiguth rem
ained on their minds. Old Krintz was two leagues distant; they would not arrive before midnight—or so the Dakkaw forecasted in his glib, highbrow way.
Baus waved a peremptory hand. “The distances are irrelevant. We have important business to set in order regardless of the hour.”
The Dakkaw made no comment.
The journey continued. Except for some minor inconveniences, the voyage passed uneventfully—barring an unexpected confrontation with a blue-eyed yantler which the Dakkaw recognized as one of the Nosofix breed.
“Here, slay it with your swords! I don’t relish having my shins gored.”
Valere swung down and ran it through with a single stroke.
The torches began to die. It was perhaps a few hours past midnight when the cart creaked its way to the outer peripheries of Krintz. Baus stared wordlessly at the stone pathway that weaved itself between the ragged mulberries and fence posts like a tired snake. Two armless, ghostly statues jutted out from nowhere, grinning down on them without humour. Doubtless, these monuments had been looted from Old Krintz, destined to spend their days standing vigil at their gatepost. Grimness leaked from afar, small patches of pallid light glinted through the mass of black baywolf trees, promising news of the town to come.
The travellers gained the wooden gate and stopped in appraisal, surrounded on each side by a low rampart. The gate was barred, as the Dakkaw had forecasted—but the rampart was erected with sharp wooden pales from which the ogre stepped away angrily, gesticulating to the large bulbs that were impaled over the parapet.
