by Max Anthony
“Needle, eh?” asked Ufflot Rumple. “Been a long time since I was up there. Whereabouts you from, then?”
“South-North-East Fifteenth,” advised Skulks.
“Nice little street that,” said Rumple. “How’s the Trillbeam Turtle doing? Still open is it?”
Not to be fooled by this simple piece of fishing, Skulks responded, “I see it has been a while since you were in Needle. The establishment you’re thinking of is the Trillbeam Tortoise. It’s gone somewhat downhill since old Flaky One-Eye died and his sons took over. They drink more from the barrels than Timbo the Sozzled.” There was no-one in the three continents who had a more encyclopaedic knowledge of drinking holes than Tan Skulks, though he thought Lucy Amber may run him a close second. As it happens, were one to ask Lucy Amber who had the most extensive knowledge of drinking holes, she would have claimed that it was in fact her, though perhaps conceding that Tan Skulks ran her a close second.
Rumple looked deflated that his attempts at uncovering a deception had been so comprehensively rebuffed. “Yeah, the Trillbeam Tortoise, that’s the one.”
Tiopan Lunder looked down his long nose at Skulks. It wasn’t a disdainful look, but it was certainly a curious one. Lunder was finely but not extravagantly dressed in purple robes. These were not the sort of flowing robes with a six-foot train to trip up the unobservant and slow down the wearer, but practical robes which allowed free movement of arm and leg. Outwardly he looked to be about Skulks’ physical age, though it was not unheard of for the most powerful of mages to delay their ageing processes.
“A man from Needle, then,” said Lunder, his voice rich and carrying a noticeable Rhultian accent. “We may eventually have need of men in Needle. What is your talent, Trius Gong?”
“I am a man of many talents, Tiopan Lunder.” Skulks spoke truthfully, for he was not a man to hide his own light under a bushel. “I am known as an expert in numbers and records, for I am Needle’s Captain of Trades, Tariffs, Imports and Miscellaneous Duties.”
Lunder raised an eyebrow at this, for it was a position of some seniority. “I see,” he said. “And what brings such a man to the house of Lisan Flamuscrax on a night like tonight?”
Skulks sensed a test in the question. He could read other people and didn’t need to penetrate any magical wards to know that Lunder didn’t believe in Juniper the Two-Headed God of Murderers. “Where there is death, there is opportunity,” he stated simply.
Lunder nodded slightly, though gave no indication as to whether or not he approved of the response. Then, without preamble, he turned to his colleagues. “We are short of time and must be leaving,” he announced.
“Are we not staying for the talk?” asked Yerda Grotbeam.
“I have done here what I needed to do and have other matters to attend to.”
Tiopan Lunder headed from the room and his three companions dutifully followed him, leaving Skulks to stand alone at a temporary loss. This situation was resolved for him by the sound of a bell, which presaged a female voice calling for silence.
Chapter Sixteen
There was a wide podium off to one side, without an associated lectern. Upon it a woman of striking good looks was now standing, smiling down at the people in the room. She waited a few minutes as people shuffled in from other rooms. Skulks squeezed his way rudely towards the front, in order that he might watch more closely. Eventually the woman appeared content that sufficient people were before her.
“Good evening, my friends.” she said. “I am glad to have you all in my house tonight and hope that you have enjoyed yourselves so far.”
A few voices shouted “Yes” and “Thanks” at this.
“I realise that not everyone is as fortunate as me in being able to host such a large number of people, so I want you to know that I’m grateful for the opportunity to return something to the Gardening Society.”
“The Gardening Society?” thought Skulks. This wasn’t what he was expecting.
“I hope you enjoyed this afternoon’s guided tours of the Flamuscrax gardens. I think you’ve quite tired Grinson out.” There were a few chuckles at this; Skulks assumed Grinson to be the gardener.
“I’m afraid you all know so much more about gardening than me, so I won’t keep you here long before I invite the first guest speaker up to talk about his fascinating insight into soil.”
It was at this point that Skulks realised something was wrong. Glancing behind him, he saw that the doors to the orangery had been swung silently shut. They were large, solid-looking hardwood affairs. Then, he saw it, though he knew he should have seen it sooner. It was clinging to one of the brick walls, about twelve feet from the ground. Skulks could see it, but it took effort to do so for its body was dotted with sigils and wards of protection to render it invisible to the human eye. It was an evil-looking beast with six limbs, appearing to be composed of solidified smoke, rather than the ephemeral kind of smoke that adds flavour to cooking sausages. The wickedly sharp claws at the end of each limb looked solid enough to cut through stone. Its body was heavily muscled, thick and rippling as if barely contained. By seeing it, Skulks alerted the creature that it had been discovered and it looked directly at him, eyes red and featureless, but somehow conveying a great depth of hatred. Its mouth opened in a grin, wide and lined with pointed teeth which were too narrow to be practical chewing tools.
Skulks knew what the creature was and before it had time to drop to the floor and raise itself up to its height of seven feet, he’d charged back through the crowd, scattering surprised gardeners to the floor. The only thing that remained was a pair of Rhultian heels, split as if they’d been torn clean from the feet they had contained.
Already twenty yards away, Skulks racketed through the orangery doors, his Wielding smashing the locks utterly and tearing one door from its hinges as he sought to draw the creature after him. It obliged, dropping onto all six claws, tensing its body and following him at incredible speed. This wasn’t a minion of Juniper, but it was almost certainly responsible for the murders in Hardened. It was a Qamunol and he’d fought one before. That fact that Skulks was still here and the previous Qamunol was not told of who had been victorious, but it had been a close-run thing. Plus, he’d had Jake the Headcracker with him at the time, who had managed to break the Qamunol’s back before smashing it several times into a solid cliff wall. In fact, when Skulks looked back on it, it was really the Headcracker who’d done the killing. This time Skulks had no one to help him.
Hurtling through the dining room, Skulks shifted through a cycle of shadow and unshadow, hoping to confuse the creature, perhaps cause it to lose sight of him temporarily. The Qamunol leapt over the large dining room table, rear claws pushing away from the wooden surface to gain greater speed, just as Skulks unshadowed and darted left down the corridor with his outline dancing wildly in the flickering light of the oil lamps. He heard a crash as the Qamunol struck the wall behind him. If it felt pain it uttered no sound, though Skulks could hear the scraping of claws gouging into the wooden floor as it accelerated. From what he remembered of his previous encounter with one of these creatures, he knew that it would be faster than him and he could only hope it was less able to manoeuvre in these tight spaces until he found somewhere more favourable to face it. He couldn’t let it get back into the city.
He sped along another corridor, using his powers to rip open every door as he ran past, pulling them back on their hinges and onto the floor behind him. At the same time, he feinted as if changing course, attempting to distract the creature. It was enough, for though these obstacles did little to slow the beast down, they did provide Skulks with the tiny edge he needed to keep ahead as he picked and pulled at the sigils on the Qamunol’s body. At the very least he wanted the magics stripped from it to make its task in the city much more difficult. The last one he’d encountered didn’t have any such protection, but as he unwound one particularly vicious-looking ward he recognized that Tiopan Lunder had placed these defences and vowed to inves
tigate this so-called merchant at the earliest opportunity.
The effort of these combined tasks prompted an error from Skulks and the pursuing creature was able to swipe out his heel using an outstretched claw, sending him in an uncontrolled dive towards the end of the corridor. A minor slice of good fortune placed a door in front of Skulks, rather than a wall and his headlong flight broke him through it and into the room beyond. The far wall brought an abrupt end to his slide, but the redoubtable Skulks was able to spring immediately to his feet. Spinning around, he landed a mighty pre-emptive wallop onto the jaw of the Qamunol as it attempted to slow its own progress and skewer him with a claw or two. Skulks felt like he’d punched a blacksmith’s sack of hammers, but was satisfied to see that he’d knocked out several of the Qamunol’s teeth. The beast was already showing as a wavering outline in the air as its magical disguises were half undone. Hardly bothered by the smack, it batted Skulks across the chest, sending him upwards and out through the closed window into the gardens beyond, wherein a hearty Jik-Jik bush cushioned his fall and protected him from further laceration by falling glass. He wasted no time in jumping free of its leafy embrace and darted off down the adjacent path.
Had anyone been watching who had the ability to see a Wielder moving at enormous speed, whilst trying desperately not to be seen, they would have observed Tan Skulks blurring along the side of the house, bare feet following the pathways of the garden even though it made his route fractionally longer. Out of the front door, this hypothetical viewer of events would have seen a stream of perturbed guests leaving the property in haste. Not in a panic, for they had not seen the Qamunol, but definitely in a state of some agitation at seeing doors explode from their moorings.
Had this observer continued watching, they would have seen a muscular creature with six limbs clatter out of the window Skulks had just exited. It too moved at a jaw-dropping velocity, but it appeared to be less nimble, for it took a large arc to change direction, though its preferred route was not hampered by a respect for the shrubbery and it tore up great gouts of sod as it gathered pace. Grinson would be busy in the morning.
Reaching the basement door, Skulks found it still unlocked. He made it through without pause, closing it and forcing the bolts into place behind him. Several seconds later there was an eye-watering thump as something incredibly strong hit it from the outside. Skulks’ earlier impression of the door’s solidity proved accurate, for it held firm. The intervening few seconds had been sufficient for Skulks to drop the locks on all four of the hound cages and woo the lead hound with a few clucking and tutting sounds. The hound growled deeply as the Qamunol struck the door again, this time producing splinters and bending the iron bands supporting the timber. Soon the second hound was the most loyal companion Skulks had ever had, followed by the third and fourth, just as the door submitted to the battering from without.
These were a breed of animal known as Clamphounds which had oversized heads and jaw muscles and were used in packs to bring down large carnivores much further inland where the terrain was more dangerous than the relatively benign lands around Hardened. In fact, they were known as Dumbhounds by many handlers; once they got hold of something, they were too stupid to let go unless they had a stick violently shoved up a certain area of their anatomy.
As the basement door shattered, Skulks stepped back into the shadows away from the doorway and watched as his faithful hounds charged the creature which had been pursuing him. They couldn’t fully see the Qamunol, but they could sense it and smell it. The first two dogs were lopped neatly apart in mid-air as they leapt, bodies cloven by swiping claws much faster than they. However, the third hound managed to fasten itself to one of the six limbs, while the fourth hound was caught by a backhand which knocked it howling into the depths of the basement. The Qamunol tore away the attached hound’s body and half of its head, but the jaws remained fastened in place. Red eyes narrowed as it dropped onto five limbs and slunk into the basement, holding the sixth above ground, though it was unclear if this was because of damage inflicted by the Clamphound or because the attached head interfered with its gait.
This area of the basement was large and dark, the roof supported by broad, practical stone pillars. The darkness was no hindrance to either Skulks or Qamunol, the latter of which paused every now and then to inhale the air, though there was no audible snuffling sound. For his part, Skulks completed the removal of the final magical wards about the beast; if it proved to be victorious over him, it would be less capable of operating unmolested. He kept pace with it across the floor of the basement, hoping there would be an advantageous moment to strike. The previous one Skulks had fought was able to adapt to his concealments and he knew this one would locate him soon.
A scrabbling noise and a bark provided the hoped-for opportunity as the fourth Clamphound shrugged itself from the unconscious state into which it had been rendered. Silence would have suited it better, for the Qamunol was upon it immediately, thrusting downwards with one clawed extremity, ending the poor hound’s life. Seeing his opportunity, Skulks was moving even as claw pierced hound, closing the gap between himself and the Qamunol. His dagger-swords struck twice, one cutting a deep gash in the closest haunch, the other cleaving two claws and half a paw from a trailing leg. Knowing what the response would be, Skulks leapt back as the Qamunol executed an unnaturally powerful flip in the air, flailing wildly at the area from which injury had been delivered.
Its otherworldly sight was already adapting and it saw Skulks as he vanished behind a pillar. The Qamunol followed and had it been capable of dismay it would have felt this very emotion as a dagger-sword punctured it most spitefully in the rectum. A hindquarters claw came up and made unlucky contact with the Wielder, tearing four wounds over Skulks’ chest and across one arm. The grey-cloth waistcoat which made him look so ill-advised was left in tatters.
Cursing his fortune, Skulks ducked under another flailing swipe as the Qamunol turned to face him. Feinting left and right, he snaked a couple of small wounds to its front limbs, but was forced into a retreat as it brought its greater mass to bear, herding him backwards in an attempt to overwhelm him. He parried two more attacks that came close to striking him, in the process slicing through the claws that sought his death and sending them skittering away into the darkness.
Sensing that it had the upper hand, the Qamunol pressed forward, coiling its powerful body for a spring that would bring four of its six limbs to bear and result in Skulks’ untimely demise. Just as it launched itself, the much smaller opponent in front of it vanished and claws swiped through now-empty air. A tiny fraction of a second later, the Qamunol felt two exceptionally sharp objects digging greedily into its belly, followed by one of its hind limbs being separated from its body. Badly wounded, it swung about, just starting to detect an outline, but too late to stop a dagger-sword entering each hate-filled, red eye.
The Qamunol didn’t die immediately and it thrashed in futility, hoping to land another lucky strike. Its vigour rapidly diminished as thrashing became a writhing, which eventually reduced to a twitching. Finally, movement stopped, apart from one remaining limb which was reluctant to give up on life and flopped gently for a further minute or two.
Skulks didn’t see any of this, for he had already traversed the basement and proceeded through the exit door. Before the flopping final limb had ceased dancing to the music only it could hear, he was back in the room where he had hidden his clothes underneath the bed of the snoring man. Little had changed, though the occupant had apparently woken long enough to disgorge the contents of his stomach upon the bedclothes, providing sustenance for a large fly which was crawling excitedly over semi-digested pork pie and Everseen Scrumptious.
Checking himself, Skulks saw that his wounds had already closed up, becoming angry and tender scars across chest and arm, where his force healing had knitted them together. This and the vanishing trick he’d had to pull in front of the Qamunol would cost him dearly later. There was a difference between tel
ling someone he wasn’t there when they hadn’t already seen him and forcing them not to see him when they already had. The latter was considerably more difficult. Skulks smiled fondly at the memory of the last time he’d had to do it, vanishing in front of the wizard Toadus Drunt, who was pronouncing the final syllable of a complex incantation to turn Skulks into a cockroach. The spell had fizzled and Skulks had escaped from the Thaumaturge’s Wondrous Cage of Imprisonment which was holding him and made off with the wizard’s prized antique hat. He’d been hungry for a week after that one and in his resulting greed had significantly enriched the owner of a pie stall closest to his lodgings.
Having re-acquainted his body with the stash of clothing, Skulks left the room, abandoning the drunken man and lucky fly to their respective tasks. He was confident that the death of the Qamunol would bring about a cessation of the murders in the city, at least for the time being. He wondered how many it had truly killed. No doubt those missing would gradually be discovered over the coming days. Had Skulks not been at the Flamuscrax house tonight, he was certain that the creature would have killed all of the members of the Gardening Society who had turned up for an evening of fine food, drink and discussion on soil varieties as they pertained to fruit growth. Skulks noted that that serving staff had been absent tonight.
He had enough information to tie Tiopan Lunder directly in to the appearance of the Qamunol and also, he thought, to Incurious Spelk’s Rat God nonsense. He felt certain that Lunder was also involved in the woodmen and bargemen strikes, if not directly responsible. “What’s it all about?” Skulks pondered. “Surely not just money?”
