Tooth and Nail

by Chris Underwood

  “The cup.” The tendrils that dangled from Kor’s cheeks were quivering in anticipation. “I can have it, yes?” He reached out with webbed fingers.

  I quickly pulled the door closed behind me. Crouching down, I reached into the leather pouch and scattered a handful of iron nails across the threshold.

  “Kor,” I said, “can you fit through that hole in the hull over there?” Standing, I put the flashlight on top of the chest of drawers, the beam pointed at the door.

  “Y…yes,” he croaked. “But my cup—”

  I slipped the cup back into my bag. “I’ll give you your cup. I promise you that. You just have to wait a few more minutes.”

  I reached into my bag again, this time pulling out a large loop of braided twine. At four equidistant points around the loop I’d tied small glass vials, each of which contained a scrap of parchment inscribed with words of power written in a mixture of blood and ink. I held the twine loosely in one hand while I gripped my truncheon in the other.

  “I’m sorry about this,” I whispered to Kor as I backed away from the door a couple of steps. “You know the guy who attacked you before? He followed me here.”

  Kor’s eyes widened further. He let out a terrified groan.

  “I’m not going to let him hurt you,” I said. “You need to get into the water. But this time you can’t run, okay? You need to hide for a while. Just until its safe. Then, when I call, I need you to come back. I still need your help. Once you’ve helped me, you get your cup back. Okay?”

  The vodyanoy’s tendrils trembled with concern. From outside the door I heard the deck creak softly.

  “Kor,” I hissed. “Do you understand? Don’t run. Just hide.”

  The vodyanoy’s big eyes glanced from me, to my bag, to the door. With a croak, he nodded.

  “Then go. Now!”

  He didn’t need to be told again. He sprang to the floor, then wriggled out through the rusted hole. There wasn’t so much as a splash as he slipped into the water.

  I turned back to the door. And I waited.

  The water outside slapped against the hull of the boat. I could feel the floor shifting slightly beneath my feet, but I couldn’t tell if that was just the water or if someone was moving on the deck.

  I licked my lips, my eyes fixed on the door. Come on, you bastard.

  The boat gave another soft creak. I readied myself. He was coming. I was sure of it.

  The goblin and his handler couldn’t allow me to find Kor. Not alive.

  I stared at the door handle, waiting for the slightest twitch. What was taking him so long?

  Over the sound of the stream I heard another noise, soft and scraping. Not from the deck, though. I frowned. It almost sounded like someone was climbing up onto the…

  I spun as a shadow appeared at one of the narrow broken windows at the front of the cabin. A knife slashed through a tattered curtain and a figure dived into the room.

  The dark-haired assassin hit the floor rolling and then came up with his knife slicing toward me.

  As I brought my truncheon up to guard, I lurched back toward the door and kicked the iron nails toward him. A few went flying into the corners of the room, but a handful of the nails spun directly toward the assassin’s feet.

  The glamoured goblin shrieked wordlessly, recoiling from the nails. Because they weren’t just any nails. I’d retrieved them a few years ago from the site of a demolished mansion, one that had stood for more than a century.

  The emotional energy that builds up in a home has a certain kind of power. It sinks into the walls. Even into the nails that hold it together.

  An ordinary goblin wouldn’t be bothered by the nails. But this wasn’t an ordinary goblin. He was a redcap, a creature twisted by sorcery. That had made him stronger than a normal goblin. Faster, too. But the magic that coursed through his blood also made him vulnerable.

  I saw my chance. Before the assassin could recover, I threw myself forward.

  The goblin raised his knife, but he was still distracted by the nails. I batted his knife-arm aside with my truncheon and swung the loop of twine and charms over the assassin’s head.

  It settled around his neck like a necklace. All at once, his muscles tensed. His eyes bulged and his body went rigid.

  I tackled him to the ground, swatting the knife out of his hand and sending it scattering across the cabin. I hadn’t been able to incorporate any of the goblin’s blood or hair into the spell, so the charm loop would only keep him frozen a few minutes.

  He made a gurgling sound as he glared at me with wide-open eyes. I think he was trying to swear at me. I didn’t take any offense.

  I grabbed my bag, pulled out a couple of zip-ties, and rolled the goblin onto his front. In a few seconds I had his wrists and ankles zip-tied together. I picked him up by the scruff of his shirt and shoved him against the wall, facing me.

  I realized I was panting heavily, my heart hammering in my chest. I slowed my breathing, trying to calm myself.

  He was dressed in a dark flannel shirt and a pair of shorts. This time he had shoes on—a pair of hiking boots older than I was. He was wearing his beanie as well. This time I knew what it was concealing. If I took the beanie off, I’d find a rimless hat clinging to his head, damp with blood. That cap formed the center of the spell that gave the goblin his power.

  Carefully, I plucked the charm loop from around the redcap’s neck and then stepped back in case he tried to lash out at me. Almost instantly his muscles relaxed. He took a few breaths, then stared up at me, unmoving. I stared back.

  “Tarnask, right?” I said.

  A smooth grin spread across the man’s face. Even through the glamour, that smile showed me the goblin inside him.

  I nodded. “Thought so. Hang on a second, huh? I have a few questions for you.”

  With one eye on the assassin to make sure he didn’t try anything, I knelt down by the rusted hole at the front of the cabin. “Kor,” I called. “It’s safe. I got him. He won’t hurt you now.”

  I waited a few seconds. Just as I was about to call out again, a pair of eyes rose up from the water in front of me. They glanced around, then Kor lifted his head up so he could speak.

  “He’s…dead?” the vodyanoy asked.

  I shook my head. “Got him tied up over there.” I moved aside so he could see.

  The vodyanoy made a little noise and hunkered back down in the water so only his eyes were visible. He stared wide-eyed at the assassin.

  “Want to wait for me on deck?” I asked.

  The vodyanoy bobbed its head, then slipped back beneath the water. A few seconds later I heard the wet slapping sounds of something climbing onto the boat.

  I turned back to the assassin. He hadn’t moved. He just stared at me and grinned that goblin grin.

  Dragging my hand across my face, I sat down on the floor opposite him, my back against the wall. The carpet was unpleasantly damp, but I ignored it.

  I cracked open a bottle of Coke I’d picked up at the gas station and took a swig. All this caffeine was going to give me a heart attack, but it was the only way I could stay awake.

  “Drink?” I asked, offering Tarnask the bottle.

  He stared at me for a second, then shook his head. I shrugged and returned the bottle to my bag.

  “How’s your arm?” I asked.

  “How’s yours?” he replied.

  The glamour hadn’t done anything to disguise his voice. It was harsh, rasping, and unmistakably goblin.

  I rubbed my shoulder where the assassin had poisoned me back at Doyle’s Reach. “Aches a little. Not as bad as where Holdfast hit me. You nearly got me, though.”

  “I was surprised to hear you survived Doyle’s Reach.”

  “You wouldn’t be the first.” I paused. “Your arm isn’t broken anymore, huh?”

  “It’s a Christmas miracle.”

  “It’s blood and sorcery is what it is,” I said. “I know what you are, redcap. By the way, how long do you have before you
have to dip yourself in stolen blood again? A day? Two? And then what? You just wither away?”

  “Something like that,” Tarnask said.

  “Will you die?”

  He shook his head. “But what kind of life will it be?”

  “You can’t have had much time left anyway. I don’t imagine you escaped the Mines with more than a few gallons of Likho’s magic blood. That won’t last forever, no matter how you ration it.”

  “You got a point?”

  “Just thinking out loud.” I checked the time. A little under two hours until dawn. “I’m going to assume you haven’t been doing all this poisoning and murdering just for the sport. Eventide. One-tusk. Holdfast. The vodyanoy. Someone hired you for all that.”

  “Figure that out by yourself? My, you are clever.”

  “Clever enough to catch you.” I sat forward. “Who hired you?”

  “Untie me and I’ll tell you.”

  “Not going to happen,” I said.

  “Pretty please?”

  “No.” I stood. “But I’ll tell you what I can do for you. Right now you’re my best shot at keeping the vampires and ogres from killing each other. If I bring you to them, tell them that you’re the one who killed Eventide and poisoned One-tusk, that might be enough to calm things down. You, on the other hand, won’t fare so well. Vampires and ogres are very proud. They’ll want their revenge. And they’ll take it out of you in pieces. If, that is, I give you to them.”

  “I like the sound of that if,” the redcap said. “Well, go on. Don’t keep me in suspense.”

  “There’s another option,” I said. “I have a friend—a goblin who is a captain in the Guard. He’d be more than happy to get his hands on you. You could return to the Mines, face justice among your own people. But for that, I need information. Actionable information. Something that leads me to whoever is responsible for all this. Preferably in the next hour. Give me that and you get to go home.” I picked up the loop of twine. “I’ll give you a couple of minutes to think on it.”

  I threw the loop back over his head. Tarnask went rigid again, his eyes bulging out of their sockets. In a couple of minutes the power of the charm loop would fade, so he’d only be weakened, not entirely frozen. It’d be enough to keep him from wriggling out of his bonds, though.

  I picked up Tarnask’s knife, careful not to touch the undoubtedly poisoned blade. I wrapped it in a bandage, then tucked it away. Leaving the door open, I went out to the deck.

  The vodyanoy was crouched in the helmsman’s seat, waiting for me. It was too dark to make out his expression, but his posture told me he was nervous.

  “Who is man?” Kor whispered.

  “He’s not a man,” I said. “He’s a goblin.”

  “Goblin,” Kor echoed.

  I nodded and picked a seat where I could keep an eye on the redcap. The seat cushion squelched beneath my weight. “I’m sorry to get you mixed up in all this. I really am.”

  The vodyanoy made a noise that I couldn’t interpret. He pointed a finger at my nose. “You hurt.”

  I touched the bandage that was strapped to my face. “You should see the other guy.”

  “Other guy?” The vodyanoy stood up in his seat and glanced around nervously, as if expecting to see another assailant charging in.

  “No, it’s okay. Calm down. It’s just an expression.”

  Still looking unsure, Kor slowly settled back down into his seat.

  Taking my cell phone out of my pocket, I said, “Do you mind if I record you?”

  “Rec…ord?”

  “So I can listen to your words again later. Like radio. You know what radio is?”

  He nodded. “TV with no pictures.”

  “That’s right. No pictures. Just your voice.”

  The vodyanoy thought about it for a second, then bobbed his head. I opened up the audio recorder app on my phone and started recording.

  “Tell me what you saw the other night,” I said. “Tell me about the fight.”

  34

  It went like this.

  Selene Eventide and One-tusk arrived at the potion seller’s trailer forty-five minutes after sunset. One-tusk’s bag was already packed. Eventide, it seemed, only had the clothes on her back. They were leaving town in a hurry. One-tusk’s truck had a full tank of gas—they probably wouldn’t have stopped until near sunrise, when Eventide would need to find somewhere to shelter from the sun.

  It was a hell of a risk. But they were desperate and in love. What choice did they have?

  While One-tusk kept the engine running, Eventide went to the potion seller’s trailer. Whitworth was out, but they couldn’t afford to wait for him to return. Every hour they delayed was an hour they could be caught.

  So Eventide broke in. Whitworth had given her a standing invitation. She’d been there before. Kor confirmed that: he’d seen her there on two other occasions in the last few months. Kor liked to keep an eye on the comings and goings of the people in Doyle’s Reach.

  Eventide grabbed all the glamours she could get her hands on and took them back out to the truck. And then, for some reason, she went back into the trailer. She was looking for something else. Something she thought was important enough to delay a little longer.

  That was when the assassin showed up. Tarnask—and whoever had sent him—knew Eventide and One-tusk were leaving town. He knew where to find them.

  While One-tusk was alone in the truck, Tarnask struck. Maybe it was then that the assassin poisoned One-tusk, or maybe that came later. I didn’t know. Maybe he’d simply hit him in the side of the head—that would explain the bloody lump on One-tusk’s head.

  Whatever had happened, the surprise attack had left One-tusk weak and dazed. Maybe he’d cried out. Somehow, Eventide became aware of what was happening outside. She rushed to her lover’s defense.

  Here, things got a little muddy. Kor had still been sitting safe in his lair when all this was going on, so I’d had to piece everything together from the evidence I had to hand. Somehow, the fight moved from the potion seller’s trailer down to the river.

  My best guess was that Eventide had been trying to lead the goblin away from civilization and away from One-tusk. Or maybe she’d been injured early in the fight, giving the goblin the upper hand.

  Kor emerged from his lair in time to see Tarnask and Eventide tumble into the river. The running water would have been agony to the vampire. It had sapped her strength, giving Tarnask the chance to finish things. Screaming, the vampire pulled herself out of the river and scrambled back up the bank. The redcap followed her, drawing his knife.

  It was around then that One-tusk had a moment of lucidity. Maybe he’d heard Eventide scream. Gunning the engine, he smashed through the potion seller’s fence and raced to the river’s edge. There, he’d spotted a weakened Eventide about to be killed by Tarnask.

  Too wounded to fight, One-tusk tried to ram the goblin. But the sorcery that flowed through the redcap’s veins made him fast, tough. He got out of the way. And pulled Eventide into the path of the truck instead.

  The truck smashed into the tree, pinning Eventide in place. But it didn’t kill her. It takes more than that to kill a vampire.

  Or an ogre, for that matter. The crash had left a piece of the vehicle’s frame piercing One-tusk’s abdomen. That was probably when he’d lost consciousness, slipping into the state of near-death that he still hadn’t emerged from.

  After that, Tarnask’s job was simple. He assumed that One-tusk was dead, or not far off it. So all he had to do was finish off Eventide.

  He’d come prepared. He drove a stake through her heart, paralyzing her and preventing any chance of escape. And then he cut off her head. Other than sunlight, decapitation was the most effective means of killing a vampire.

  It was around then that the potion seller returned home. Tarnask decided his job was done and got the hell out of there. Maybe he’d poisoned One-tusk on his way out, just to finish the job. Kor wasn’t sure.

  Whitworth
found the damage to his fence, followed the tire tracks to the tree, and then started blabbing to everyone he could get on the other end of a phone. We showed up not long after.

  It all fit pretty well. I still didn’t know who was behind everything, but I had to hope that the vodyanoy’s testimony was enough to convince Lockhart and Bounding Rabbit to cool it. Hell, it might even be enough to convince Booker to stop his warmongering, assuming he wasn’t the one who’d hired Tarnask in the first place.

  I stopped the recording and slipped my phone back into my pocket. In the east, the gray of twilight was starting to peek through the clouds. I had to get back.

  “Thanks, Kor,” I said. “You might have just saved a whole lot of lives.” I reached into my bag. “As promised…”

  I handed him the sealed bag containing his silver-rimmed tea cup. He gave a croak of delight and carefully inspected it.

  “You can go home,” I said. “The assassin won’t be coming back. And no one else but me knows where you live. You’re safe now.”

  He nodded, his mouth forming what could almost be called a smile.

  “There’s one more thing I wanted to ask you,” I said. “You said you’d seen Eventide visit the potion seller a few times before. Any idea what she was doing there?”

  The vodyanoy shrugged.

  “She went inside, right? How long did she stay? Minutes? Hours?”

  “Not long. Not enough time to eat a fish.”

  Idly, I wondered if all vodyanoy timekeeping revolved around fish.

  “She brought things,” Kor volunteered.

  “What kinds of things?”

  “Colored paper. And little bags and bottles.”

  I frowned. Maybe the paper was money. “Was there anything in the bags and bottles?”

  The vodyanoy shrugged again. “Heard them talking once. Was out looking for a new bowl.”

  “Yeah? What did they say?”

  “ ‘Not ready,’ he says. Woman talking about”—he screwed up his eyes, looking unsure—“train…fur?”

  “Train fur?” I thought about it. “Transfer, you mean?”

  His eyes lit up. “Yes. Transfer. All I heard.”