Spit and Song (Ustlian Tales Book 2)

by Travis M. Riddle

  If she was this nervous regardless, she could only guess how much of a wreck she would be if Beatrix wasn’t involved. She hardly really knew her, but from their brief interaction back at the travelers’ outpost, she felt a warmth and kindness from the woman. Something implicitly told Kali that she could be trusted.

  Puk held the door open with his scrawny arm and grinned, saying, “After you.”

  But Kali did not enter the building. Puk stood there holding the door with a befuddled look. She said, “Are we sure about this? Like, really sure?” The prospect of handing over the book and subsequently failing to retrieve it never stopped gnawing at her.

  “I thought so,” Puk replied. “Are you not now? I thought we were pretty keen on getting paid a lot of money and also savin’ the world or whatever. That sounds like a win-win to me.”

  “But we could just walk away right now, burn the damned book, and not endanger anybody. If we slip up and don’t get it back…”

  “We will,” said Puk. “Not slip up, I meant we will get it back. Have a little faith in us. Let’s go in there and cheat these sacks of shit. Don’t that sound fun?”

  She broke into a weak smile. “It does,” she confessed.

  People shuffled between them and into the bar, momentarily confused by a qarm holding the door open for them. Kali attempted to swallow her doubt and followed the patrons.

  Inside, she shuddered at the violent murals adorning the walls all around her and scanned the animated room for their previous escort, Niska. The rail-thin woman with her spiked green hair would be easy to spot amongst the other ruffians, a collection of ujaths and rocyans and scarred jeorns. There was a woman sat at the piano in the back corner of the bar, banging on the keys and drunkenly crooning. Someone in the crowd yelled at her to shut up, and in turn, she informed them where they could shove their criticisms.

  Niska was not behind the bar, which sent a pang of worry through Kali’s chest. She wanted this business over and done with.

  The constant anxiety was killing her. It had been for years, the unending concern over whether she could provide for herself and make something of her life. But over the past several weeks, the feeling had been compounded tenfold. The minute she reached Atlua, she would make her way to the prettiest beach with the clearest water and relax for a week straight. She needed to finally rest.

  “There,” she just barely heard Puk say behind her. She followed the line of his finger and spotted Niska attending to a group of centripts seated at a round table. They remained standing near the doorway (much to the irritation of a man who stumbled inside, tripping over his own feet and nearly toppling Puk), watching the woman work until she returned to the bar.

  When she finally did, Puk was the one to initiate conversation. They stepped up to the counter, Puk hoisting himself onto a stool. His eyestalks curved downward and he shot Niska a smile.

  “What?” she asked him, in no mood for any foolishness.

  “Oh,” the qarm mumbled. “Kinda thought you’d remember us. We ain’t the most typical duo.”

  “I do,” said Niska. She stared blankly at him.

  Puk sighed, then asked, “Do I really gotta say it again? We gotta go through the song and dance?”

  “The codes and precautions are in place for a reason.”

  “But you know us. You just said so.”

  “We’re Voya’s dipshit friends,” Kali blurted out, wanting the exchange to hurry and proceed.

  Puk irritably rolled his stalks back, and Niska grinned toothily. Her teeth were surprisingly a gleaming white.

  “I’m goin’ on a break!” she shouted to her fellow bartender, then led Kali and Puk outside. In the alleyway behind the Rabid Dog, their guide dropped an unexpected tidbit. “Haratti’s gonna be shocked to see you,” she laughed. “He thought for sure y’all were never gonna come back. Thought you’d get lost and die in the desert, or not get lost and die wherever he sent you. Where did he send you, by the way?”

  “Out to some shitty town,” Puk grumbled vaguely.

  “Sounds about right. Shitty towns are where people like Haratti flourish. The guy he sent out there before you two came back a few days after y’all left, actually. Didn’t receive a warm welcome.”

  Kali had no interest in being on the receiving end of Haratti’s displeasure.

  Conversation dried up after that. Niska brought them to the nondescript building Haratti used as headquarters and unlocked the door, ushering them into the darkened hallway. Down at the end on the left, the man’s office was closed. Niska rapped her knuckles on the door and said, “Sir? The qarm and the faif are back.”

  There had been the faint sound of scribbling, which immediately stopped at Niska’s words. “Let them in,” came Haratti’s croaking voice.

  Niska pushed the door open and stood aside.

  Like before, Haratti was sitting behind his impressively carved desk, jotting away in several opened notebooks. He looked more like an accountant than a crime boss.

  Maybe that’s all he is, really.

  Haratti rubbed a gloved hand over his bald head and greeted his guests. The man’s gray goatee was longer and messier than when they’d last met with him.

  “You may leave,” he told Niska. The woman said nothing and stepped out of the room, yanking the door shut behind her. “Take a seat,” he then said to the pair.

  They did as instructed.

  No one spoke. Kali and Puk stared at Haratti, and his gaze shifted between the two of them. A shiver coursed through her.

  “So,” said Haratti, “I take it you have good news for me. I should hope so, anyway. Our previous hired hand did not bring good tidings, and, well…” He trailed off, leaving the rest to their imagination.

  “We do,” said Puk, always taking charge in Myrisih. Places like this were his domain. “We got the book.”

  Haratti’s eyebrows shot up, his expression one of incredulity. His face wrinkled into a wry smile. “I would like to see it, please.”

  Puk motioned toward Kali, who swiftly extracted the book from her knapsack. She tossed it onto the desk in front of her and it landed with a thud, sending up a spray of dust.

  The old man reached toward its enticing, mysterious black cover and pulled it closer. He opened it to the title page and his foul grin grew wider.

  “I am impressed,” he said, proceeding to flip through the first few pages. His eyes flicked up and down as he read the different disturbing spells and Kleus’s notes scribbled in the margins. “Quite frankly, I did not anticipate you returning at all, let alone so soon.”

  “Yeah, well, we’re impressive,” said Puk. “Now, about the payment…”

  She appreciated the qarm’s boldness. Her leg bounced up and down, though she kept her heel from tapping on the floor. If Haratti noticed how nervous she was, he clearly did not care.

  “A quick transaction. I can respect that,” the man said, closing the leather-bound book. He made a quick note in his records before continuing. “First, I would like to ask you how Kleus Saix was disposed of.”

  Kali blinked. “We didn’t ‘dispose’ him,” she said. “He’s still alive. We just stole the book from him.”

  Haratti considered this, then wrote something else down. “Okay,” he said, drawing the word out. “That is good to know.”

  “Killing him wasn’t part of the deal,” Puk said. “It was ten thousand to get the book. You didn’t say anything about having to kill the guy.”

  “Don’t worry, little one,” Haratti said, finishing his scrawling. The jab clearly annoyed Puk. “You will receive your full payment. I simply wanted to know the mage’s current status, for my boss’s sake. If he is going to have a skilled red mage seeking revenge on him, then that is information he would like to be privy to.”

  Puk shook his head and said, “Won’t be any revenge. Not on y’all, anyways. I told him the High Mages sent me. Didn’t mention you guys at all.”

  “That was wise. But why would the High Mages employ a qa
rm in hunting down a renegade mage?”

  “I didn’t completely flesh out the fiction,” Puk said irritably, “but it was enough for him to believe. He’s probably been paranoid thinkin’ the mages would find him any day now for the past forty years, so he’d believe anything. Obviously. Can we get paid now?”

  Kali piped up with a question of her own, though. She couldn’t help herself. “What is your boss doing with the book?”

  Puk’s stalks shot to the left, wide-eyed in shock at her indiscretion.

  Haratti laughed, the sound akin to a chicken being strangled. “That is none of your concern.”

  It was the ambiguous answer that she had expected, but still, it was a disappointment. In actuality, the only answer that would not have disappointed her was “He’s going to destroy it,” so she would have been let down no matter what Haratti said.

  “Niska!” the man then called. The door creaked open and the woman peeked her vibrant head inside. Haratti held up Malum and said, “Please bring this to Banwe and have him and his people transport it. I take it you two will be able to find your way back without our lovely Niska’s assistance, yes?” he asked Puk and Kali.

  They both nodded.

  Niska glided past Kali and grabbed the book, then disappeared once more. Kali listened as her footsteps grew quieter, eventually giving way to the opening and closing of a door.

  Ideally, they would have been paid and long gone before Haratti sent the book off. His boss had to be pretty eager to get the ball rolling on their plans. Perhaps they already had a buyer on standby.

  But that meant—

  Kali swallowed. Shit is going to get bad any second now.

  “Money,” she sputtered.

  Puk jumped in to support her. “Money,” he echoed.

  “Yes, yes, of course,” said Haratti. He made another note, then called out, “Ilyi!”

  A few seconds passed, then a muscular, green-and-orange faif with a shaved head burst through the doorway. “Yes?” he asked, his voice meek and wavering.

  “Please fetch the payment for job code 111300. And be quick about it; our guests are in quite a hurry, it seems.” He sneered.

  Ilyi repeated the job number then scampered away. Maybe Haratti was not a glorified accountant after all, and this man was the person in charge of the finances.

  Kali hoped the man was fast.

  Every second felt like an eternity, sitting in Haratti’s office waiting for Ilyi’s return. Waiting to hear hell break loose in the alleyway as Beatrix and her squad descended on Banwe and his.

  Why do none of our fucking plans ever go right?

  Haratti stared at the two of them, his expression placid. It made her uneasy. The silence was worse than anything he could’ve said. Suddenly, he broke into a smile, and Kali was sure he suspected something was up.

  But before her own suspicions were confirmed, Ilyi popped back into the room with a small pouch in hand, wound tied tightly shut. Haratti gestured toward Kali, and the buff man handed over the pouch.

  “Twenty five-hundred crescent notes. Ten thousand crescents in total, as agreed. You may count them, if it would make you comfortable.”

  Kali untied the bag and peered inside. Her leg was shaking uncontrollably now as she failed to accurately count the money. Based on a quick glance, it all seemed to be in order. Given their current circumstances, that would suffice for her.

  “Looks good,” she said, her throat dry. She slipped the pouch into her own bag with an unsteady hand.

  “Excellent,” said Haratti, clapping his hands together. “Well, it was a pleasure doing business with you. Maybe we’ll meet again someday.”

  Puk scooted off his chair and said, “No offense, but I hope not.”

  Kali stood as well and turned to walk out the door, where Ilyi stood dumbly overlooking the room. She imagined he was the type of underling who required strict instruction, and he had not been explicitly told to leave yet.

  Suddenly there came a crash outside the building, and then chaotic shouts. Haratti perked up, glancing in the direction from which the sound had come, then back to the pair standing before him.

  “What is that?” he asked them.

  Neither answered.

  Instead, Puk opted to climb back up on his chair, turn to face Haratti, and then leap forward over the desk, yelping like a crazed animal.

  CHAPTER XXI

  HARMLESS

  Puk collided with Haratti’s bald head, propelling the man backward and slamming him into the wall. The two tumbled to the ground, a streak of blood left behind like an arrow pointing down at the man’s slumped body.

  “Humph?” Haratti tried pushing out words, but they were muffled and incomprehensible. Puk was sprawled on his chest, with his eyestalks wrapped like a sticky blue noose around the old man’s thin, wrinkled neck. Haratti then managed to ask again, “What is happening?” Blood dribbled from his split lip.

  “Gotta go,” Puk said, unwrapping himself and hopping up off the ground. He went to take a step, but Haratti was cognizant enough to seize his legs.

  The qarm was sent tumbling to the ground, reaching his hands out to break his fall, when a pang! screeched through the small room.

  He had not managed to catch himself, instead smashing his face on the dirty carpet. There was a stinging pain in his left hand, intense yet dulled somehow, like something prevented him from fully feeling it. With his face still planted on the floor, fluffs of carpet sticking to his lips, he curved his stalks upward to look at his hand.

  There was a hole in it.

  Puk rolled onto his back and held his battered hand above his head. The wound was ragged, with bits of flesh hanging down into the hole, which dripped blood onto his face. He could see the ceiling through his hand.

  “Blood,” he murmured. Then, “There’s blood here!”

  Haratti pounded a fist into Puk’s torso, winding him. Another gunshot rang out, and Puk suddenly realized he was unaware of Kali’s location or living status.

  “Kali!” he wheezed, just before Haratti punched him in the gut a second time.

  “Busy, Puk!” came her curt reply.

  So she was still alive. That was something.

  Next, there came a thump and a clatter, which Puk prayed were noises associated with Ilyi being tackled and Ilyi dropping his gun.

  Haratti landed yet another punch, and Puk decided he should probably start moving if he wanted to make it out of this room alive. He sat up and lurched forward, hole-hand first, slapping it directly onto Haratti’s face.

  The man let out a startled, disgusted scream as Puk rubbed the bloody wound all over his cheeks, his eyes, his mouth.

  Is his nose in my hand hole?

  The thought chilled him and he removed his hand, rising and stumbling backward while Haratti was preoccupied with wiping the red grime off his face.

  Puk clumsily made his way around the desk and saw Kali straddling Ilyi’s body, repeatedly punching him in the face as he struggled to shove her off. She glanced over her shoulder and asked, “Little help?”

  Without hesitation, Puk raced toward them and started rubbing his bloody hand on Ilyi’s face as well, streaking the man’s bright green skin with muted red. Ilyi immediately let go of Kali and started swatting at Puk, who laughed.

  He had to find pleasure in the situation while he could, because he was all too aware that once the shock wore off, the pain would be incredible.

  From behind the desk, Haratti let out a roar and pulled himself up off the ground. Blood covered the front and back of his head, and the old man’s breathing was stilted.

  “You’re worthless, Ilyi!” he shouted, observing his lackey flailing on the floor while a qarm made a grisly finger-painting on his face.

  Haratti yanked open a drawer in his desk. The sliding sound of the wood on its track alerted both Puk and Kali, who knew he could only be reaching for one thing.

  Sure enough, Haratti leveled a gun at them and fired almost instantly.

 
; But the man was dazed and angry and his aim was shaky. The bullet pierced the right side of the doorframe, whizzing past Puk’s head.

  Now that Ilyi’s nose had also penetrated his hand hole—as well as the fact that Haratti was shooting at them—Puk decided it was now well past time to split.

  He stood and darted out of the room, trusting that Kali was following his lead and still had possession of her knapsack. As he sprinted down the unlit hallway, he rotated one stalk around to see that she was close behind and indeed had her bag strapped over her shoulder. Their money was secure.

  Puk, being somewhat delirious from his shock and blood loss, temporarily forgot that knobs needed to be turned in order to open doors, and so he careened into the exit at full speed and promptly crumpled to the floor in a foolish heap.

  His vision darkened, and he willed himself not to black out. He had experienced his fair share of blackouts in the past, and they were all in good fun, but now was not the time.

  Kali tugged him up off the dingy carpet as Haratti staggered out of his office. This time around, he did not bother stopping to make a proclamation or ask a question. He simply fired his gun.