by Jeff Ayers
Belamy nodded and approached the troupe, who had scooted off to the side of the courtyard to avoid the assault.
Skate ran toward him and caught the last part of his sentence.
“—want to leave.”
“Yeah, no kidding.” Tillby winced as he spoke, and leaned on the nearby railing for support. “What’s going on? Who are you?”
“As I said, I approached you because I thought you might be of service in making contact with a dangerous group of thieves in the city. They seem to have found me in the meantime.”
“Yes, and almost killed us in the process!” Amanda was standing rigid, her fists clenched into tight balls of fury at her sides. Her jaw was set in a pugnacious scowl. “You’re responsible for this,” she said, pointing to the burns along Kibo’s and Tillby’s bodies.
“Not quite. I have reason to believe the thieves were following you as well, in order to prevent whatever you were going to do with your captive audience today.”
“Take a cut of the booty, more like,” Tillby said through a smirk that he managed not to turn into another expression of pain.
“Yes, well. In any event, it does not seem they’re terribly interested in you any longer, so I’d cut your losses and escape while you can.”
“You said it.” The huckster and showman stood to his full height with another wince. “Hey, doesn’t that, uh, hurt? That doesn’t look so good.” He ran a finger along his own face to mirror Belamy’s injuries.
“I’ll be fine. Off with you now.”
The troupe members looked to one another, shrugged, and ran as quickly as their injuries would allow. Miss Amanda took the lead, as her instrument had been smashed in all the hubbub, leaving her unburdened. She cajoled and encouraged the other two around a corner, and they were gone.
Belamy turned to greet Skate. She recoiled instinctively; the lightning had burned his flesh to a charred mess on half of his face. One eye was burned shut. Even aside from that, he looked wrong. His undamaged skin was sallow, and his good eye was pale and covered in a gray film. Nevertheless, he smiled at her, as if he were just wearing some sort of grizzly disguise.
“That really doesn’t hurt you, does it?”
“No. I don’t feel pain because of my…condition.” As he talked, the charred skin began to crack. The smell of burning meat made her take a step back and gag.
“My apologies. The spells blasted away my disguise. Why are you still here?” His familiar look of concern was marred by his injuries to become completely unsettling.
“I thought…I thought you were hurt.”
Belamy smiled again, and shook his head. “My body can be damaged, but I don’t experience hurt anymore. You can’t actually hurt a dead person.”
“Did you know I was one of them?” There were still shouts and screams from around the square; the panic had not subsided. Two of the rooms blasted by Belamy’s spell had caught fire, and that was causing an uproar of its own. Despite all of that—and despite understanding that in all likelihood, the Ink was not done with its assault yet—Skate needed to know.
The smile shrank somewhat but did not disappear, leaving a small smirk along the side of his face unburned by the lightning. “Not until ten minutes ago. Rattle told me.”
“Rattle can’t talk.”
“Perfectly true.” Belamy tapped his temple with his index finger. “But he can show me everything he’s seen and heard if I want him to. He flew off after you two split up and met me.” As he spoke, Rattle came into view in the sky, its legs jangling together in their familiar clamor. It came to a floating position at Belamy’s eye level. “You did well to summon Ungor. I’m guessing Petre helped with that?”
Skate nodded. “He didn’t exactly explain what would happen, though.”
“Your intuition served you well.”
“You’re not mad.”
“Not at all. There will be a mess to clean up, to be sure, but nothing world-shattering.”
“I meant about me lying to you.”
Belamy scratched a piece of burnt skin, which flaked off. “No, I’m not mad. You were on the streets, and you did what you had to do in order to survive. Of course you kept that from me, especially once I decided to set myself up against them. How could I be mad, anyway? You defended my home. You chose to protect me at great personal cost. There’s honor in that—far more than any you could have possibly lost by simply choosing to survive.” He knelt down and placed a hand on her shoulder a second time. “I’m proud, not angry.”
Skate looked down. “Oh.” She couldn’t say anything else. She felt her cheeks flushing and warmth pouring over her ears.
Mercifully, Belamy took his hand away and stood back up. “You need to leave now, Skate.”
A coldness had crept into his voice. The Iron Wind was speaking to her, and he was looking behind her, pale eye narrowed and jaw set. She turned to see a very unwelcome sight: the Big Boss entering the courtyard, flanked by two bodyguards. His too-large eyes scanned the damage done to the shops with only passing interest. As he approached the three of them, he handed off his cane and hat to one bodyguard, and his coat to the other.
“Barrison Belamy.” His voice was calm and cold, as it had been when he was talking to her, but there was a note of something else in his tone that she couldn’t tease out yet. “The Iron Wind at battle again.”
A member of the Guard ran up to their location. “You lot, clear out of—” The bodyguard holding the coat spun around and hit the approaching man with so much force that the Guardsman’s leather cap flew a dozen feet through the air. The man fell to the ground and did not move.
The Big Boss continued as if there had been no interruption. “I must admit, I’m impressed. I really did think that five of them would have been enough to handle you. My mistake.” He picked at something underneath one of his nails, and Belamy’s eye went wide.
“Hugo.”
Skate turned to the wizard. “You know the Big Boss?”
Belamy said nothing, too stunned to do anything but stare in disbelief. The Big Boss chuckled and said, “Oh yes, he knows me of old. Old mates, we are. Eh, Colonel Barry?”
The use of the nickname shook Belamy out of shock enough to finally respond. “You’re dead, Hugo.”
“Oh, Barry,” the Big Boss said, pursing his lips in condescension, “no more than you. Why you waited until you were so decrepit to make the change, I have no idea.” He laughed again, this time revealing all of his pearly white teeth. His canines seemed to elongate as he spoke. “Luckily, I wasn’t so foolish as that.”
Belamy regained his composure, and the face of iron returned. “A vampire, Hugo? You were willing to sell your soul to a monster in order to avoid dying?”
“Turns out, it was well worth the deal. I got her in the end, and it left me free to do whatever I wished. And what I wished was to become important in a large city. I think I’ve done pretty well so far.”
Skate’s foot bumped into a building. She had been backing away from the Big Boss in horror since she’d seen his teeth. She pressed her back up against the wall, willing herself to disappear into the room behind—anything to put more distance between herself and the vampire. Twitch’s stories filled her mind, ghastly images of blood and terror that took the strength from her legs.
“How are you standing here? It’s midday. The clouds are not thick enough to protect you; you should be burning in the light of the sun.”
“Oh, I bypassed that hindrance long ago. Before I even founded my little group, in fact. When you’ve pledged your service to me, I might let you in on the secret. After all, eternity is a long time, is it not? I’m sure we’d run out of other topics of conversation eventually.”
At that moment, a hand grabbed Skate by the arm and pulled her up. She shrieked, imagining a set of teeth puncturing her neck—and indeed, there was something sharp pressing against her throat.
“Hello again, girlie.” Kite held her in front of him with knife poised to strike, his arm
across her chest and clasped at the shoulder.
Hugo tilted his head. “I think the threat hardly needs saying at this point, does it?”
Belamy stood where he was, eyes darting from Skate to Kite to the knife. “Hugo, this is madness. She has nothing to do with this.”
“On the contrary, she’s got everything to do with it. She’s how I found you. The fact that her fate concerns you at all is proof enough that her death isn’t a price you’re willing to pay. So, you agree to come along, and we’ll keep her nice and safe.”
Belamy said nothing for what felt like a long time. When he did speak, the hardness had not left his voice, but he spoke in a low tone that made it difficult to hear. “And I would just have to take your word for it?”
“I’m sure we could arrange some form of visitations or something. Once or twice a year, just to prove that she’s safe.” Hugo’s eyes twinkled as he spoke, and a hint of a smile cracked his pallid face. “I could do a lot with you working for me, Barrison. We’ll own the whole city within a few years, with every nobleman and merchant prince either in our purse or under our boots. From there, we start working toward the rest of the kingdom; then we spread out from there. We’ve got nothing but time, right?” He crossed his arms, waiting for a reply.
Belamy said nothing, but his hands were twitching behind his back and his mouth was moving wordlessly. He opened his mouth a final time and a shriek rang out right in Skate’s ear. Kite dropped the knife and pushed her forward. No, not pushed, she realized—he just knocked into her as he began to slap at his hands, his chest, his face.
“Oh God, get them off, get them—”
Then two things happened at the same time:
Rattle tackled her to the ground and crouched protectively over her, its spider-like legs forming a wide-barred cage around her. Kite, who was still slapping and scratching at something only he could see, was knocked over by someone much smaller than he, wearing gray rags and with a streak of blond hair showing on top of his head.
“Twitch!” Skate tried to get to the tussle but couldn’t fit between Rattle’s legs; it kept closing them wherever she tried to bolt through. Kite, for his part, seemed intent on swatting away whatever he thought was on him. He did manage to break free of Twitch’s grasp and elbow the boy in the nose, though.
Twitch fell back with a hand on his face while Kite scrambled up to his feet.
“Help me, help—” Kite cut his words short with a strangled gasp and brought his hands to his neck.
Belamy had his hand outstretched toward the young man, and Skate let out a gasp when she turned her attention toward the wizard. He looked almost unrecognizable. His face was twisted into a grimace of hatred only made more horrible by the charred black burn arcing up one side of his face and the dead blindness of his good eye. He flung up his hand, and Kite flew into the air, kicking feebly as he clawed at his constricted throat. Already, he was turning red from the strain and lack of air.
One of Hugo’s bodyguards moved toward Belamy, but Hugo put up a hand to stop him. He was watching with his wide eyes, never blinking, that same ghost of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. The guard returned to his respectful position behind Hugo.
Belamy spoke, his voice a monstrous growl. “You slime, you worm.” Kite was kicking and sputtering, his face becoming a deeper shade of red, edging toward purple. “You would threaten a child—a child under my protection? Cowardly filth.” He brought his hand down sharply, slamming Kite into the ground.
Kite grunted but could do nothing else with the unseen hand choking him. His eyes were bulging as he struggled in vain to escape the grasp of the wizard’s magic.
“Unfit to live,” Belamy growled.
“Stop!” Skate cried. Kite’s eyes were bulging with effort, but she saw the silent plea in the wild stare. “Mr. Belamy, stop!”
Belamy fixed his glare on her, and she found herself clutching Rattle’s legs for support. He looked monstrous.
“Why? This loathsome rat would gut you at first opportunity. I’ve seen how he acts; I’ve seen the way his mind works. He’s a waste of space who is only now, for the first time in his selfish, wretched life, contemplating the concept of mercy because he’ll benefit from it.” Belamy turned his snarling face back toward Kite. “The world’s better without him in it.”
A particularly nasty voice (one made all the worse because Skate knew it to be her own thinking and no one else’s) was screaming in her head: He’s right! Think of the knife at your throat! The people he’s hurt and probably killed, the way he looks when he’s threatening you. He’ll never stop coming for you, he— She shook her head and the thoughts evaporated. “You said you weren’t going to get anybody hurt if you could help it. With the lightning, you were just fighting back. This is murder. Can’t you help this?”
When Belamy snapped his gaze back to her this time, Skate didn’t recoil—partly because she’d steeled her nerves for it and partly because his face was not still a mask of hatred. Instead, he looked shocked at her question. “I can…help it. Yes. Yes, of course.”
Belamy shook his hand loosely, and Kite sucked in a desperate and stuttering gulp of air. He coughed and retched as he crawled away from the lich. He didn’t crawl toward the vampire either, but toward a nearby tree. He rolled against it and continued coughing into the slushy snow. When Belamy spoke again, she recognized the voice. “I’m not a monster. You’re right.”
Hugo’s airy laughter caught their attention. He stood with a hand on his chest, as if struggling to contain himself. “My, how disappointing. I thought I’d be meeting the Iron Wind again. But no,” he said with a deep sigh that ended any echoes of his laugh, “I see I was mistaken. You’re only a burned-out husk who tells stories to himself. You won’t embrace what you’ve become. It makes you weak.” Hugo waved at the bodyguard who’d moved earlier. The man stalked toward Kite. “I don’t tolerate weakness. You’ll learn that while you work for me.”
The bodyguard was halfway to Kite already, a thin and wicked-looking blade produced from somewhere in the sleeve of his coat.
“Wait,” Belamy said, holding up a hand to stop his progress.
The bodyguard stopped as if he’d run into an invisible wall. He turned toward Belamy and growled, opening a mouth with elongated canines. Belamy’s hand gripped again and tossed violently, throwing the subservient vampire backward.
Hugo stepped aside and let him crash into his other bodyguard. Belamy kept pushing, and both of the bodyguards smashed through the wall of the fancy bakery.
Hugo stood looking at the lich with disgust. “Where was all this mercy of yours sixty years ago? What made me less deserving of receiving it than him?” He gestured toward Kite and put his hand on his hip. “Is it just a refusal to do what’s necessary anymore? It doesn’t matter,” he said, not waiting for an answer. He put both of his hands behind his back and stood at a military-style rest position. “I’ve decided to destroy your body for now. We’ll find whatever you tied your soul to and trap you when you re-form. It’ll be easier to deal with you that way.”
Hugo made no move, and Belamy was likewise still. The latter spoke. “I’m sorry, Hugo. You did not deserve to die.”
“Empty words that cost you nothing. Spare me your false sympathy, your meaningless platitudes, they—” Hugo cut off his words a split second before Skate noticed the reason why: Belamy was waggling fingers and muttering quietly.
Faster than Skate could follow, Hugo crossed the two dozen feet between him and Belamy and stood directly in front of the wizard. He struck Belamy hard across the face, on the side where the lightning had done its damage.
Belamy staggered, and Skate gagged; the blow had torn the blackened skin completely from the wizard’s face, leaving the ghastly white skull to shine in the midday sun.
Belamy turned with the blow, his half-face frozen in concentration as he continued muttering. He finished his spell, and a glittering sphere of translucent white enclosed both him and Hugo together,
with only two feet or so on either side of them to move around in.
Skate was distracted for a moment as Rattle’s legs moved, and footsteps approached. Twitch had come to stand beside her. He was clutching his nose, which was bleeding. There were blotches of red across his gray rags where blood had either splattered or he’d tried to stop it up. He said nothing but watched the confrontation.
“Foolish,” Hugo said, his voice perfectly audible through the sphere. “Now you’ve nowhere to go. And we both know I’m the stronger by far.” He accentuated this last word with another blow across the face. The crack of bone was audible as he kneed the old man in the stomach and delivered a third blow. With each hit, Belamy made no move to block anything, but brought his hands around him as if trying to curl into a ball and avoid the worst. The jewels of the robe glinted in the sun with every shifting movement.
The bodyguards had extracted themselves from the shop and were walking at a leisurely pace to the other side of the sphere, content to watch their master at work. Hugo was holding Belamy up with one hand, the old man’s legs dangling loose below him. Hugo brought the wizard in close and said, just loudly enough to be heard by the onlookers, “I’m going to enjoy working with you, Barrison.” He pulled back and delivered a terrible blow to the forehead, denting it in and sending the Iron Wind to the ground in a heap. The rubies glinted all over his robes.
Belamy had landed in such a way that he was looking at Skate. The side of his face with skin on it smiled, and his mouth moved. She heard his voice in her ear: “Rattle will show the way.”
“Speak up, Barry; it’s the last time we’ll get to talk for a while.” Hugo bent over him and snarled.
Belamy did not turn to look at him, but did resume speaking in an audible tone. “Do you know what one of my most successful tricks was during the war?”
“Do tell; I’m sure it’s very interesting.” Hugo delivered a kick that sent Belamy flying into the side of the sphere, which reacted not one iota to the force of it.