The Book of Kindly Deaths

by Eldritch Black

  The man’s fingers tensed on the handle of his sword. But before Eliza could shout a warning to her, the old lady screamed, her head ballooning to five times its size. Her mouth opened, revealing layer after layer of needle-like teeth.

  The man tried to back away, but it was too late. The old lady leaped upon him, her mouth engulfing his head.

  As she bit down, her eyes shone with such intensity that they lit up the road.

  Eliza clamped her hands over her ears, blocking out the sickening sound of crunching as something fell to the ground.

  “You’re a squeamish one, aren’t you?” the old lady said.

  Eliza nodded, gazing at the hills, trying to clear her mind of the hideous event.

  “Well, I did warn him, didn’t I, dear?” The old lady removed what looked like a hacksaw from her shawl. “Given your sensitivities, I’d advise you to look away as I prepare what’s left for the market.”

  Eliza didn’t need telling twice and winced at the sound of chopping and sawing. She heard the old lady walk to the back of the cart, whipping back the filthy sheets and unleashing a terrible stench as she dumped the remains upon the cart.

  She joined Eliza, taking up the reins. “Fortune smiles today, dear. You have your ride, and I have even more to sell at market. We should become partners, you and I. I think you’re a lucky charm!”

  Eliza nodded, not knowing what else to do.

  As the cart rolled on, she looked away from the reflection of the moon in the dark pool of blood spreading across the edge of the road.

  24

  Into The Midnight City

  “So, you sell…um, meat?” Eliza asked, feigning an air of nonchalance.

  The old lady cackled as the cart turned a bend. “That’s not all I sell. And I only take the meat of those who have wronged me. That’s my code, dear. Everyone should have a code. The meat fetches quite a price down by the docks. You should try the Kishspik stew on the Vashhaal wharf; it’s out of this world.”

  Eliza remained silent as the cart turned a bend in the road, revealing the vista below. The city was colossal, far bigger than anything she’d ever seen. A huge, dark mass upon the land. Everywhere she looked there were buildings and houses, countless chimneys pouring gray curls of smoke into the sky. And between the houses, immense buildings, reminding her of palaces and churches.

  Darkly foreboding palaces and churches.

  Across the city, like shards of jagged glass, rose seven black towers, tall and thin, pointing to the sky like witches’ fingers. And enclosing everything, a great wall, its stone as black as flint. Beyond the city, a huge sea stretched for as far as she could see, the moon shining down upon its glass-like surface.

  “It’s…beautiful,” Eliza muttered. “Beautiful and nightmarish.”

  “It’s both those things and more, dear,” the old lady said, cracking the reins and sending the horses trotting. “But I’ll be glad when I’m on my way back up the hill. I never spend too long in the city. It’s not a good place to be.”

  They rode through a pair of enormous curved gates that opened like bat wings, admitting the damned to hell, and as the cart rolled into the city, Eliza swallowed.

  A long road stretched beyond the tall, grimy buildings. Their soot-smeared walls reminded Eliza of a film she’d once seen, set in Dickensian London. And in the street below, rotting things festered in thick, oozing mud. Here and there figures walked, stooped, and shuffled, silently making their way along the thoroughfare and ducking into darkened alleys.

  The old lady lowered her voice. “Listen, dear, I’d take you to the docks for stew, but I don’t think you’d like it there. It’s not a nice area and you’re very green.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The old lady rested a hand on Eliza’s arm and smiled. “You smell of Grimwytch, but you’re not of Grimwytch, are you?”

  “How long have you known I’m…”

  The old lady shook her head. “Don’t say it. Not here. Not if you want to keep your pretty little head where it should be. Pull your hood down low, my love, and tread carefully and with purpose as you go.”

  Eliza nodded, her heart thumping wildly as she realized the old lady must have known she was human from the moment she’d climbed upon her cart. “Do you know where I can find Grim…”

  “The prison’s a fair walk. Keep to this street, and when it reaches a large square of white buildings, take a left. Mortignue Street will lead you to his prison.” The old lady nodded briskly as Eliza stepped away and turned her cart down a small lane between two rows of crooked houses.

  Eliza walked, stepping through the mud. Here and there came snatches of chatter, some in English, some not, none particularly conversational. Two tall, eyeless figures whose faces looked like freshly peeled onions leaned against the wall before her, smoking stumps of cigars. As Eliza passed, one blew a stream of smoke. It snaked towards Eliza as if alive and formed a giant, smoky eye, which winked at her. The smoke curled towards her face, probing beneath her hood. She batted it away, ignoring the dark mutters from behind.

  Show no fear, she reminded herself, for fear will make you stand out.

  She walked on, lifting her head a little as she kept her eyes on the road, ignoring the myriad strange sights that seemed to grab her attention wherever she looked. The other pedestrians paid no attention as Eliza wove her way through them, until she encountered a group of small creatures that looked like children.

  Monstrous children.

  They were playing a game of chase, their faces an almost impossibly red color over their muted woolen suits. Eliza noticed the tiny stumps of horns upon their heads and wondered if they were devils. If they were, it seemed they bore her no malice. Then the smallest turned to regard her, poking out its fat black tongue.

  Eliza grinned, poking her tongue back, instantly regretting her mistake as the creature gasped in amazement. It whistled to the others and pointed at Eliza, grunting and barking as it leaped up and down in the mud. The impish child’s curiosity seemed contagious because now other passersby were staring at her. Eliza stopped, glanced around and spotted a dark stretch of alley ahead in the street.

  She stepped inside, eager to escape the monstrous children’s excited attention as they jabbered behind, pointing and howling and shaking their heads. Eliza ignored them, following the curve of the alley, glad to leave their din behind.

  The alley opened, and as she turned another bend, she found a long, straight passage leading to a distant street.

  A sense of unease crept over her.

  Eliza glanced behind. The alley was empty.

  So why could she feel eyes upon her? She looked up to the large stone walkway connecting two roofs. Empty.

  Or was it?

  Because for a second, she thought she glimpsed a pair of eyes watching from the brickwork at the bottom of the walkway. Directly above where she had to pass.

  And now, as she looked closer, the shadows below the walkway seemed darker than they should be. Perhaps she should return to the street and brave the attention of the impish children. Surely they’d get bored and leave her alone?

  Eliza glanced over her shoulder.

  A figure turned the corner and came down the alley, thin and ragged and only slightly taller than she, the claws by its sides splayed. Eliza turned to run but stood rooted to the spot as beyond the shadows of the walkway another figure approached, almost a mirror image of the one behind her.

  She was trapped.

  Eliza shivered as she caught the flash of eyes from the bottom of the walkway. She screamed. Then another set of eyes opened beside them. And then another, until there were eyes everywhere, opening on the walls, opening on the rooftops, and opening on the ground. From the shadows, more ragged figures emerged, hunched and clawed like the ones stalking towards her.

  A hiss filled the air as the figure that had been watching from the bottom of the walkway fell from the gloom onto the ground. This one was taller than the others and they moved aside
as it stepped into a patch of moonlight.

  It was like a wolf formed of shadows.

  Eliza tried to focus on it, but it was difficult, because aside from its metallic claws, it was perfectly indistinct. She got a sense of fur, fur somehow made from shadows and night. And roving eyes, and a snarl of teeth.

  “What do you want?” Eliza pulled her hood lower. “I need to be somewhere. It’s really important.”

  The figure cackled, and soon the others joined it.

  “I’m late for an appointment,” Eliza said. “With Grim Shivers!”

  The creature snickered before throwing back its head and howling. The others joined it as it stepped forward, reaching for Eliza’s hood and pulling it down. Eliza screamed as she clutched her hands over her face, but it was too late.

  “Drearspawn!”

  “No!”

  “Yes!” The creature slashed the air, a claw raking across Eliza’s face.

  Eliza flinched, clamping a hand to the cut, her fingers wet with blood.

  The other creatures began to bay, a primal, savage sound, as the smell of her blood seemed to lend fuel to their excitement.

  “Leave me alone!” As Eliza stepped towards the wall, a figure detached itself from the shadows, pushing her back towards the tallest creature.

  “Leave me alone,” it mocked. “We’ll leave you. When you’re nothing but bone and entrails.”

  Now, as it loped towards her, its cruel playfulness was gone.

  I’m going to die, Eliza thought. I’m going to die here, and no one will ever know.

  She tried to sidestep the creature, but it brought its hand down on the top of her head, fixing her in place. And as it held up its other hand, its claws shining in the moonlight, Eliza was suddenly reminded of the blade in her belt.

  As she yanked it free, it sang, taking control of her hand. The knife pulled Eliza across the path and plunged itself into the creature’s chest.

  The shadow creature howled.

  It was beyond the sound of agony.

  Something worse than pain.

  The creature dropped to its knees, shaking and writhing. “Phasmatis!” it cried. “My phasmatis!”

  The blade Eliza held twisted inside the creature and produced a sickening sound of tearing. She tried to pull her weapon free, but it resisted her, coating her hands in blood.

  And now the blade’s song filled the alley, sending the other creatures running, their cruelty and excitement replaced with horror. They leaped upon the walls, bounding up them and vaulting over the rooftops.

  The slain creature slumped to the ground, taking Eliza’s blade with it. She pulled with all her might, finally wresting it free. It shone in the moonlight, somehow larger as it glistened with an iridescent sheen. But as she plunged it into the sheath at her side, its song slowed, until finally it vanished altogether.

  Eliza walked away from the corpse, her hands and legs shaking.

  Numb.

  Hollow.

  Then sickness swept over her, her stomach roiling as if filled with bugs as she released the flood of hot bile searing her throat. Eliza leaned over and vomited, clutching the wall as a tide of nausea threatened to engulf her.

  Finally, when there was nothing left, she stopped and stood, taking a deep breath and gazing at the stars. “It was going to kill me,” she heard herself say. “It was going to kill me. So I killed it first.”

  But she hadn’t just slain the creature. Something else had happened, something even worse. For while the idea of taking a life was almost more than Eliza could bear, she knew the blade had taken more than the monster’s life. And that it had left it writhing in something far worse than mere agony or terror.

  25

  The Tower

  As Eliza walked, the walls seemed to blur around her as her thoughts turned in ever-tighter circles.

  But as she emerged into a wide street, her senses flooded back. Carts and carriages clattered by, and figures shuffled past in the gloom. She forced herself to think of anything but the hideous event that had just taken place. “Can’t think about it now,” she whispered. “Focus.”

  Eliza pulled her hood down, joining the throng, her eyes on the jagged black tower rearing up before her.

  She’d seen the tower before, in her dream. Or perhaps nightmare was a more fitting word. It had looked as real as it did now and it filled her with the same sense of dread. The malice exuding from its black stones was so thick she could almost feel it.

  It was almost as if whoever had built the place had gone out of their way to create a ghastly spectacle. But perhaps that was the intention.

  After all, it was a prison built for monsters.

  A few windows ran along its side, issuing weak, flickering yellow lights. Eliza wondered if anyone was watching her approach. If so, was one of them her grandfather? Would she find him inside? And if she did, would she be able to take his hand, as she had all those years ago when she’d fallen off her bicycle and he’d made everything better?

  But as Eliza climbed a set of steps leading from the road to the tower, her hopes crumbled, for below the tower whirled a hive of activity.

  Four figures stood positioned before the tower’s door, moonlight gleaming on their polished black armor. Eliza recognized them at once. She’d seen them in her dream. The guards with the hidden faces.

  Faces she never, ever wanted to see.

  Before the tower and the guards, figures hurried to and fro as an audience gaped at the building, among them vendors selling squirming things on trays, books, and spyglasses. Eliza walked towards a man so huge and obese that his pasty white belly rested on the ground, covering his lower half. A reptilian man stood on a stool, painting words upon the man’s great stomach in thick blue paint, but as Eliza drew nearer he stopped, flicking his head towards her and hissing.

  Eliza held her hands up as the reptilian man leaped from his stool, brandishing his paintbrush. “You didn’t pay to read! Fifteen coins or no show.”

  “Don’t pay,” a voice insisted from behind Eliza. “It’s old news.”

  She turned to find a gaunt man with a mane of curly red hair and full, black eyes. He was dressed in finery, a walking cane by his side.

  “What’s he painting?” Eliza asked, pulling her hood down over her face.

  The man stared for a moment before smiling. “This morning’s news, of course. Why, I wonder, would such an everyday thing mystify you?”

  “I…I live in the woods. We don’t get news there.”

  “Don’t you?” the man asked. “Well, as I said, don’t pay a single coin. It’s a rehash of the same old story, the tower, the disappearing guardian, the breach.” He feigned yawning.

  “The breach?” Eliza asked, gazing up at the tower.

  “You really are green, aren’t you?” the man said, and for some reason this seemed to please him as he licked his lips. “The tower’s guardian, Grim Shivers, has gone. Following his disappearance, a drearspawn breached the tower and freed a prisoner. And the freed prisoner was another drearspawn. And now the pair of them are trapped.”

  “Trapped where?” Eliza asked.

  “In the light house. But this is not half as interesting as the news my publication will paint this very afternoon.” The man gazed around before licking his lips again and fixing Eliza with a perfectly insincere smile. “I could share my news if you like. Give you an exclusive. But not here. Let us find a quieter place.”

  Eliza shook her head. “I need to be on my way. But thank you anyway.”

  The man stared at Eliza, trying to gaze below her hood. “What are you hiding under there?”

  “I…I’m diseased.” Eliza moved away from him.

  “Diseased with what?”

  Eliza struggled to think of a word and blurted, “Porridge.”

  “Porridge?” the man asked. “Never heard of it.”

  “It’s awful. My face is covered in oats. And when they burst, the pus is boiling hot.” She stepped towards the man as he ba
cked away. “Would you like to see?”

  “Get away from me.” He raised his cane. “If you take another step, you’ll be in tomorrow’s obituaries.”

  Eliza hurried down the steps, casting a quick glance behind her, but the man had vanished. At the edge of the street, two ladies sat upon the ground, chatting and laughing as they combed each other’s towering white beehive hair. Like the man, their eyes were pure black. “Excuse me,” Eliza said as she approached them.

  The ladies stopped chattering as they snapped their heads towards her. “What have you done that needs excusing?” asked one.

  “I’m looking for a place called the light house. It’s where…”

  “We know what the light house is, you dullard.” The other lady rolled her eyes. “Listen, if I tell you how to get there, do you promise to leave immediately and take your stench with you?”

  “I do,” Eliza agreed.

  “Take the alley over there. In the next street turn left. At the end turn left again, and then take the first right past the Twisty Entrails.”

  “The twisty entrails?” Eliza asked.

  “The inn, you buffoon,” the other lady said.

  “And now that you have your directions, you must go,” said the other. “Before we’re forced to do something rash with our knives.”

  Eliza didn’t need to be told twice. She hurried across the street, peering down the alley. While it was perfectly unwelcoming, it was mercifully short.

  She looked back to make sure the ladies weren’t following before jogging along a narrow stretch, holding her breath against the reek. Eliza followed the ladies’ directions, walking with purpose as she made her way down ever-darker streets.

  The figures Eliza passed seemed lost in their own worlds and, judging by their furtive glances, equally as paranoid as she was.

  Finally, she spotted the inn. A large sign hung above the door with a gaudy picture of dripping red innards, the name “The Twisty Entrails” written in hacks and slashes.