Litany of Wrath

by Levi Pfeiffer

  * * *

  He went by the name of Lucky Jack. To most, he was a common gambler type prone to hyperbole, typical of the shadowy populace in Subria. Lucky Jack felt that his luck was running rather low at the moment. He kept looking up as he walked around in the off-putting brown light, which was turning a ruddy color like an old scab. When the cards were not in his favor he turned to the one other trade he could do, following people with a knack of not being noticed. This he had done with his usual proficiency, and now he was on his way to report his findings. He did not enjoy this type of work, it was far riskier than his usual secreted ace up a sleeve. His borrowed coat, lent to him by his employer, Eustace, barely allowed him to pass by the nicer folk walking the streets without comment. He was out of his element, and looked it, for this was the nicest part of Entigria. The towers here were tall and well spaced out. No neighbor wanted to have their own grounds crowded. In fact, they would prefer not to refer to their fellow residents as neighbors at all. That was too common of a term; lower classes had neighbors, but the high lords and wealthiest of the town had colleagues. These folk occupied the prestigious portions on the city along the rim, facing outward and overlooking the great breadbaskets that flowed produce and wealth into, ultimately, their very own coffers. Jack spared a morsel of curiosity to wonder what they looked like now from those high vantage points.

  In his absent minded musing, he nearly collided with an older couple who were taking the evening air, such as it was, draped in their finery. The man looked with fury and the lady sniffed, turning her head away from the malodorous Jack. He hurried on his way before he managed to cause a scene. He could not chance that right now, no matter what his own personal inclinations might have been. He needed to do the job, get the money, and get back to Subria to pay off his debts before sundown. Then he could go back to the card table and start over. No good to get caught up in some ruckus and end up in jail for his trouble. A few others were wandering along as well. He got some dirty looks from those that saw him. Despite the unease he continued on, assured that no one would stop him, for to do so would then mean that you would be seen talking with such as he. No one wanted that black mark on their social calling card. So he walked on, unmolested and ignored, until he reached his destination.

  Here was the grey brick and ivy covered mansion of Lord Eustace Avoc, a wealthy but secretive old man that seldom left his estate when not dealing with affairs of his office on the high council of Entigria. He knew nothing of him, other than the tavern rumors that told of black deeds done long ago to secure his fortune, helped by the disappearance of rivals. Lucky Jack might be down on his luck, but he was not stupid. People in mansions like this could be very picky indeed. He followed the instructions that he had been given by his contact carefully, going around the back side of the towering buildings till he came to the servant’s entrance. It rankled a bit to actually use that, but not enough to pass up the opportunity he had in front of him. If he played his cards right he’d be drowning in a small fortune before much longer.

  The lawn was truly magnificent, once. Its current state surprised him, even his untrained eyes could see the lack of order in the gardens, how plants he did not know the names of had grown without check. He even spotted some common weeds, though how they could stand the pompous plants around them was a mystery. Jack could feel the fabric of his shirt sticking to his neck. This place was certainly not what he had been led to believe the high society lived like. The air was almost fetid, with a rank smell that made his nose wrinkle. He could see the scum on the small little personal pond on the estate, covered with duckweed and other foul blooms. What on earth was going on here? Something must be far wrong, but leaving was risky as well. These people tended to have long memories, and if he didn’t show it would not bode well for him. Screwing up his courage, he went along the shady path that wound its way to a small door, set on the side of an immense square mansion. Even this building looked in ill repair, if it were possible for such a grand building to so quickly moulder. The slate roof looked dingy, the stones, slimy.

  It took all his courage to knock on the wooden door with its engraved borders. The thunk sounded as sodden as the rest of the swampy area, like a hollow chest that had been plundered of its treasure. He stood out there in the failing light of the evening, dearly hoping the interview would be quick so that he would not have to transverse this glum garden in the dark. When no one answered, after some minutes, he tried again and found that the door inched forward under the pressure of his fist. Carefully, he peeked his head around the door frame. Inside, the place seemed normal, at least compared to the outside. It was lavish, far beyond his understanding, with gilt and plush carpet, velvet hangings, and all the other fripperies and vagaries of the city’s ever evolving sense of fashion. This place must have been hoping to capture all of them at once, the overall effect was overwhelming for the street man that Jack was, totally unaccustomed to the bewildering menagerie of color, precious stones embedded in anything soft enough to be a setting. He trembled slightly, thinking to himself that if he didn’t play his cards right with Lord Avoc, he may end up drowning in something else. After what felt like minutes he realized that there would be no manservant or maid there to guide him. Sweat dripped off his chin, the murky light beckoning him into the Lord’s mansion. He stepped through anyway, not at all surprised to hear the door click after him as he inched down the hallway. Some of the rumors about Lord Avoc included mention that he employed or used Karthild himself. Well, he was in here now. The only way out was to give his information, get the prize, and get out as soon as he could. This whole place was giving him the creeps, he would have told his ol’ partner. And, at this point, he wouldn’t have even minded admitting that to a stranger.

  The inside was much better kept, although even here there were signs of neglect: dusty shelves and untrimmed candles, rugs not swept in days, and a strange chemical smell that made his eyes water. Still, it was nicer than outside; walking down the hallway Jack was feeling more relaxed. He came to an open doorway, seeing flickering firelight reflected off of the polished floor. Peeping inside, there was the man that owned this bizarre estate. Lord Eustace Avoc sat in a large chair with an overhanging back, seated at an immense desk. Weights and measures were scattered across its padded leather surface, the scritch and scratch of a pen the only sound accompanying the crackle of sparks from the fireplace.

  “Report,” came the thin voice from the horse-like features, still bent over an accounting book, not bothering to look up. Jack had worked for Eustace before, over the years, and was used to the man’s clipped and arrogant mannerisms. This evening though, there was a slightly different edge, almost oily.

  “First one was easy. Folson had him in his rooms for the past few days. He left today, took a beeline to a pub. It’s the one that ol’ buddy of his runs on Redtile Lane,” Jack said. When Eustace said nothing in response, he continued, “That Lucius fellow; he spent his time on the walls. Then he went to his workshop. I was gonna follow him in, snoop around a bit, but I held back like you said to.” In truth he had not minded that at all, if even one or two stories bandied about the taverns over the years had been true, there was no telling what trap he could have run into. He waited to see if there would be a response now, hoping that the interview was almost over.

  “That’s two,” replied Eustace as he moved his pen laboriously along the columns, “And the others?”

  Lucky Jack had been dreading this part. It was too much to ask that the old bogey would forget. He had done his best though, hadn’t he? For all his skill though, he knew he’d been spotted. After that it was impossible, the girl was a ghost if she wanted to be, and he daren’t run afoul of Gavin, even for this man in front of him. The other had been worse. He’d tried everything; pulled a few strings, promised a few favors. All for nothing. Eventually, he’d even taken the small stone wafers that Eustace had provided and said the trigger words to help him along, but no luck. He was out of options, “Couldn’t
find ‘em,” he said.

  There was a sharp intake of breath, almost a hiss, from the man as he tisked with annoyance. “Failure was not prescribed when I gave my orders,” Eustace said.

  Jack wondered why had he been so eager the first time he’d been here. Was it the prospect of a quick cash in that had led him down this path? Now he wondered if he should have just made up some story. Jack wasn’t very good at that, it was why he was in this position to begin with. No, honesty was his only way forward right now, he wished it weren’t. And what was that strange chemical smell that was making his eyes water? Now that his job was complete and he was actually giving the information he found himself wishing fervently to just get out of the room.

  “You don’t understand, Gavin is influential in my world. No one will sing for me about one o’ his. It’d be suicide. She don’t want to be found. Whatever else is changed about her, she ain’t lost her ability to hide. An’ if I can’t find her, I’ll guarantee no one else will,” Jack said, trying bravado now. It was a desperate ploy, he needed his employer to have confidence in him, and more importantly, to still pay up.

  “Hmm,” mused Eustace, still not looking up from his work. “And I suppose you have some other suitable excuse for the other?”

  “He ain’t here at all. No one never seen him, never heard of him. I looked everywhere where someone of that size coulda fit, nothing. Them stones you give me didn’t work neither. I used all four, and the only thing I got was a bit of activity in the Karthild district. Like someone with his background would knock out his pipe of an evening in that loony place.” Jack kept his voice steady, but it was difficult.

  Eustace tisked again then said, with a wave of his free hand, “Very well, you are dismissed.”

  “What about my payment?” Jack asked. It might be a stupid question but he would be dead within a day if he didn’t scrounge the funds he needed to pay off his debts. Powerful men in the Undercity did not like to be kept waiting. People always said the house always won and the show was always rigged, and after the last table he’d been at, and the money he’d lost, he would be among their number to swear it as well.

  “You think a half finished job deserves wages, do you?” Eustace had stopped accounting, though the deep arch of the chair still hid his face in the dim light.

  Jack decided to push his luck, he’d been lucky to see two of the marks, to follow that one all the way to that odd workshop. Surely it could hold out for just a little longer? “You’ll pay me,” he said, hiding the growing fear that was welling up inside, “Otherwise I’ll go to that shop,” he said, laying down his trump card, “Tell that person what I’ve done. Tell him this here address. How about that?” The chemical smell was really bothering him, almost choking his breath in the fetid air.

  “No. I think not. You don’t understand,” said Eustace, looking up, his lips set in a grim line, then slowly grinning horribly.

  Lucky Jack stared at Eustace watching the change come slowly. He saw his employer’s eyes slowly darken, then glow golden. It was not the reflection of the fireplace, for it seemed to brighten the old man’s own features. It was somehow the worst thing he had ever seen. Jack decided he needed to flee, payment be damned. He turned to leave and bounced off a figure in the doorway that must have gotten there without him noticing. His head ached from the collision on metal. He spun around to again, whipping out his hidden dagger, “You let me go, you freak!” he shouted. “You think I’m dumb? I got people who look out for me, you can’t get the best of Lucky Jack.” His heart was racing, head aching, and senses swimming from the horrible stench all around him.

  “Here is what you do not seem to understand. Luck is fickle, fate is eternal. You trusted the wrong one. It is much easier to get rid of a body, much safer too, in order to ensure your silence.” Jack peered at the grinning visage with its pools of golden shimmering light for eyes. He went to yell for help, hoping the sound might carry out to anyone that might care, but he was cut off. Armored hands crushed his windpipe and forced the air out in a strangled garble. His boots left the floor as he was lifted off the ground by the strong force pulling him upward. Just before blackness came he knew in that brief moment that he would die.

  14 GATHERING SMOKE

  Brother Simon has shown us the path. We must not now falter in our resolve. We die, and our knowledge with us. Fools we were to deny fate, now under fate’s decree we fall. It is too late to turn back, but with hope our secret knowledge may one day be free and set the hearts and minds of the descendants of our persecutors free. We are at peace, though our end approaches with violence. So be it.

  Notes preserved and much copied among the now extinct rival priest faction, put to death during the last unhappy days of the War of Stone when their secret enclave was discovered.

  Pim put each foot forward at a snail’s pace. With incredible slowness, she eased her head around the side of the bookshelf, peering to where the clattering busyness issued. She nearly burst out laughing at the sight. It was not, as she had supposed, the frantic work of a Karthild master busy with their research; instead, she saw Lucius eating. She could only watch in fascination at the feverish energy poured into the consumption of a large roast bird. The scent of it had confused her when she first arrived within the workshop; but she had dismissed it initially as an irrelevant detail. Pim could see the sweat pouring down Lucius’s face in his rush. She squinted, concentrating; Lucius was sweating, yes, but that was not the only thing he was doing. Among the beaded drops of sweat, tears were mixing to run and drip off his chin in a cascade down his face. Something was far wrong here, Pim decided.

  From her vantage point, Pim could not see or hear anyone else and Lucius seemed rather distracted. She put aside wondering why the silly fellow was crying over his meal and returned to her search. All she wanted to do was find the item that Gavin had sent her here to obtain, deliver the goods, and be done with working for a time. With Lucius distracted, it would be all the easier to get upstairs, where the other Karthild researcher worked. Pim slunk back out of sight, being careful to avoid the random papers and books on the floor that need to be shelved. The staircase leading upstairs was dusty, she would need to avoid detection by covering her tracks, using the same path already ploughed up and down the staircase. Listening again, she reassured herself that Lucius was still busy. She went up the stairs as deftly as possible, testing each step before putting her full weight. It was an odd almost pigeon-like advance, but her luck held, and she made the summit without so much as the slightest twinge from the woodwork.

  The next level was full of dim light from below, revealing an orderly array of tables, all filled edge to edge with rocks and metals. Here was the careful space of a master researcher. Curiosity overcame Pim’s urgency and she took a moment to scan the nearest table. Her questing sight found labels and charts next to each sample, like some great web of knowledge. Many of the metals she had never heard of, with unpronounceable names full of consonants. She stopped herself from reaching for the small pile of what looked to be semi-precious gems on another table. She had not been given permission to take anything other than what she had been sent for; besides, she did not want to risk setting off a concealed alarm. Gavin was being too cautious, she thought, but he had sent her because he could trust her to follow directions to the letter, so she moved on.

  Pim found what she was looking for in one corner, a small safe almost hidden beneath a pile of loose straw. Eistor’s safe, she had been warned, would be sure to be locked and probably trapped. There was no way to know for sure, but she had picked up a few bits of advice from Gavin’s associates. She brushed away the straw, revealing the oblong iron box. It was covered with an unpleasant array of grinning faces sculpted into the iron. Had not her dreams of late been so disturbing, Pim might have found the box hilarious. Today though, it gave her pause to think. No doubt, the safe had been adorned in such fashion for the very effect it produced within her now, yet knowing that did little to reassure her.

>   With a hand that barely trembled as it reached out, Pim traced some of the faces with her finger tips. The cruel and hideous looking pictures were simply that, a warding facade. She felt a little better and continued her work. Placing her ear against the box, she could not discern any noise or sliding parts as she nudged the iron box and tapped it all around. That left trying the lock itself. She was repulsed by the image of it, a great gargoyle with the keyhole for a mouth. She took out her set of hooks and rakes from the vest coat she always wore when out on the job. The little metal tools had been blackened with soot to prevent unhelpful shining that might give away her position.

  Working with practiced patience, she cleared her mind of anything else, focusing entirely on a mental picture of the pins and sliding parts within the lock. Each pin was tested, a nudge here, a tap there, all the while cataloging the sequence in her mind. Part of her wondered at it all; here she was, sneaking into a Karthild shop and breaking into a safe and there had been no magical lock at all. Pim reckoned that a typical mage would only be worried about other mages pilfering their hidden stores, and therefore did not use magical locks for simple virtue of the fact that their rivals would already know how to disarm them. She grinned, here she was, not even able to tell apart the different rocks on the tables, but at the very heart of someone’s store and about to capture the precious cargo within.