Kultus

by Richard Ford

  He looked up from where he lay foundering on the ground. Valac was standing above him, leering down in victory, and as much as Blaklok wanted to stand and spit in the demon’s face he couldn’t. He was beaten, about to become so much torn and discarded flesh, and there was not a thing he could do about it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Valac’s leering face bore down on him, and Blaklok could see deep into those eyes – eyes that reflected the depths of Hell itself. Razor teeth gaped open revealing a gore strewn throat coated in bile and the ichor of its recent victims. One of which Blaklok was about to become.

  ‘Howdo!’

  The statement was innocuous, spoken in a conversational manner, but it was bold enough to momentarily divert the attention of the President of Hell.

  Valac paused, glancing around, looking for the source of the interruption, its brow suddenly furrowed in anger.

  Blaklok was as confused as the demon, but grateful for his reprieve.

  ‘I was just passing,’ the voice continued, ‘when I found this. Wondered if it belonged to anyone.’

  Then Blaklok saw him, standing bold as brass in his grey raincoat and flat cap.

  The diminutive figure was standing off to one side, holding up the Key in one tiny hand. As Valac saw him he reared, puffing himself up to full height in readiness to pounce on the troublesome figure – ready to rend Quickstep asunder for his audacity. As much as he wanted to berate Quickstep for his folly, Blaklok couldn’t help but take advantage of the diversion, scrambling painfully to his feet and moving beyond the huge demon’s reach.

  ‘You are a big ’un aren’t you?’ Quickstep said, smiling from beneath the shadow of his cap. Valac paused, momentarily confused. Plainly the creature was used to those humans it encountered running and screaming in terror. Being engaged in conversation was doubtless a novel experience for it.

  It leaned closer, fascinated by the curious figure, and Quickstep merely stared back, not a single notion of fear on his face. ‘What’s up? Lost your mummy, have you?’ Valac tilted its head curiously. ‘Well, we’ll have to see what we can do about getting you back home again.’

  At this, Valac raised its lip in a vile sneer. Its comprehension of Quickstep’s suggestion was obvious and it clenched those wicked talons into fists.

  ‘Quickstep!’ Blaklok cried. ‘What are you doing? Run!’

  But Quickstep ignored him, still staring into those black eyes.

  Then the demon roared.

  Hissing spittle flew from its maw, splashing against Quickstep’s coat and melting the dull material, but still the little man looked on, smiling happily. ‘Ooh, I think maybe you’re a bit tired. Not to worry.’ Suddenly the Key of Lunos began to glow in his grip, wispy light peeling from its surface.

  Valac roared again, heaving in a lungful of air, and Blaklok realised it was preparing to disgorge another eructation of hellfire.

  But Quickstep was faster. Blaklok could see the little man’s lips moving in silent incantation, and all the while the Key of Lunos glowed more intensely.

  There was a rush, like a wind gushing down a narrow tunnel, and Blaklok thought that this was the last he would see of Quickstep before he was consumed by molten vomit.

  But with a blinding flash of light all went quiet, and Quickstep was left standing alone.

  Blaklok glanced around, unable to believe that Valac had gone, but the President of Hell was nowhere in sight.

  Quickstep merely continued to smile from beneath the brim of his flat cap, the Key of Lunos held in one hand, looking no more important than an ordinary antique key.

  ‘It’s becoming a habit; saving your arse,’ said Quickstep. ‘Anyone would think you couldn’t look after yourself.’

  ‘Very funny,’ Blaklok replied. ‘Maybe you can give yourself a king size pat on the back when we’ve put some distance between us and the tower full of raving cultists.’

  ‘Good idea.’ Quickstep said, turning to leave, but Thaddeus placed a hand on his arm.

  ‘That belongs to me,’ he said, motioning to the Key of Lunos.

  Quickstep glanced down at it, and there was a sudden spark of defiance across his face, but before he could argue, Blaklok snatched the object from his hand, and led them off through the Spires district.

  They both tramped through the back streets as best they could, but it wasn’t long before Blaklok found himself in unfamiliar territory. It had never been a district Thaddeus had much call to visit, and the unfamiliar streets were like a labyrinth. Without a word, Quickstep took the lead, guiding them down alleys and along walkways that Blaklok would not have even noticed. Eventually the streets became shabbier, and the characters that walked them less opulently dressed.

  It was obvious they had left the austerity of the Spires well behind them.

  Quickstep suddenly stopped as they entered a quiet plaza, elevated some feet above the bustling streets below. It was grimy and covered in filth that settled in piles at the plaza’s edge.

  ‘We need to talk,’ said the little man, his cheery expression taking on a serious tone.

  ‘Damn right we do,’ Blaklok replied. ‘For a start, how did you find me… no, for a start, how did you manage to get away from the Cult of Legion the last time we met? It’s about time you started giving me ans–’

  He stopped as Quickstep held up a hand to silence him. There was something weird about the little fellow; something that made Blaklok suddenly compliant. It surprised him somewhat, and he began to get an uneasy feeling that Quickstep was not all he appeared – as if rescuing him from a mob of criminals, surviving an attack by demonic cultists and banishing a President of Hell back to the Pit had not been clue enough that there was something odd about the man.

  ‘No,’ said Quickstep. ‘We need to talk about that.’ He motioned to the Key of Lunos in Blaklok’s pocket.

  ‘All right, let’s talk about it.’ Blaklok tensed, his hand reaching into his pocket and pulling it out. He grasped it firmly in one meaty fist, as though his life depended on it. There was something about Quickstep’s interest in the Key he didn’t like. There were too many people willing to go to great lengths for this thing, and if Quickstep was one of them, Blaklok would have to take him on. After seeing the little fellow in action, it would be foolish to underestimate him now.

  ‘I’ve already told you the Fane of Zaphiel wants it, to keep it safe from prying hands. Well, now you know exactly which hands, and the lengths they’re willing to go to. You’ve also seen the near misses we’ve had. It should be plain what you have to do.’

  ‘By that you mean hand it over? How do I know you’re any more responsible than the demon mentalists we’ve just escaped from?’

  ‘Well,’ Quickstep grinned, ‘there’s a lot to be said for trust, but I’m guessing you’re all out of that.’

  ‘Good fucking guess.’

  ‘So let’s just say we have plans – plans for the greater good – that the Key of Lunos is an integral part of.’

  ‘Look,’ Thaddeus began to back away. As much as Quickstep didn’t look threatening at the moment he wasn’t about to take any chances. ‘I’d love to help you out, but this thing’s already spoken for. I’ve got a job to do, and that’s that.’ He backed further away, ready to turn and run as fast as he could.

  ‘Wait,’ said Quickstep, concern suddenly crossing his features. ‘Behind you!’

  Blaklok laughed. ‘Mate, that’s the oldest one in the–’

  Something hit him hard from behind, throwing him to the ground and knocking the Key from his grip.

  There was a roar of triumph and, before he could start to rise, something grabbed him, grasping with vast meaty hands and lofting him high. Blaklok had time to glimpse a forearm as thick as a chimneystack before he was flung like a rag doll against the wall.

  This time he was ready, and as he bounced off the wall to land on the ground, he managed to find his feet before his assailant could make another attack.

  The brute was huge, wid
er than Blaklok was tall, with a face squashed and simian, heavy brows protruding over deep set eyes, and tiny pupils that stared out in rage. Its body was covered in curly black hair and it powered itself forward on short, thick legs.

  Just before it reached him, Thaddeus braced a foot against the wall and pushed off, using the brute’s head as a stepping stone to leap out of the way. He heard a thud as the gorilla man smashed into the wall, sending shards of brick and mortar flying.

  Blaklok hit the ground running, his eyes desperately scanning the ground to try and locate the Key he had dropped, but he saw Quickstep was way ahead of him, already reaching out to grasp it. Before the diminutive man could grasp the object, more figures swept into view. Blaklok barely had time to duck as something cut the air inches from his face. It was heralded by an ear piercing shriek, like that of a wild hunting hawk, and as he saw the approaching figure he found the sound suited his attacker perfectly. The man – if he was a man – resembled a lithe bird. The helmet he wore was designed to resemble some kind of hawk head, and his body was adorned in short blades that resembled feathers. Already his swift hands, faster than Blaklok’s eyes could follow, were pulling more blades from the sheaths that covered his body and letting fly.

  Thaddeus dived to the side, hearing the harsh clang as the metal blades struck the sidewalk beside him. He rolled and stood, finding himself beside Quickstep, with the Key of Lunos at both their feet. They glanced at one another, a second’s repose, before they both leapt for it.

  There was a harsh crack, and before either of them could lay a hand on the Key it was gone, whipped away by the end of a black leather lash.

  Looking up, Blaklok saw the Key was now held in the grasp of an exotic looking woman. She was almost beautiful, but Blaklok thought her looks spoiled by a face covered in piercings, like a siren from some masochist’s twisted erotic dream. Where her flesh wasn’t covered by black leather and metal, it was tattooed with multicoloured sigils. She dangled the Key seductively in one hand, whilst casually holding a long, barbed whip in the other.

  The hugely muscled brute and the bird-man were now standing impassively, watching the proceedings as Blaklok tried to plan his next move. He was about to speak to Quickstep, about to ask for some sort of advice, when he heard the sound of heavy clanging footfalls. From around a corner came another strange sight that made Blaklok think this bunch must have just escaped from the nearest circus freakshow.

  A seven-foot sentinel of copper cogs and iron shanks was striding down the street towards them. Its arms seemed too long for its body, and were tipped with huge, thick, steel appendages that grasped and whirred as it walked on wide leaden feet.

  ‘You’re impressed, I can tell.’ The voice was smooth and crooning, and as Thaddeus turned towards it he almost gasped at what he saw. Another circus freak stood waiting at one end of the plaza, and this one was the most hideous of all. He was a man, but barely. Sinew and muscle was displayed moist and raw all over his body, and his face was a mess of scars and exposed tissue. He had no lips and his teeth shone in a perpetual grin.

  ‘Let me guess,’ said Blaklok, determined not to balk in the face of these hideous monsters. ‘You’re here for the Key as well?’

  The flayed man laughed.

  ‘No, Thaddeus Blaklok,’ he replied. ‘We’re here for you!’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  ‘We are the Hounds,’ said the skinless freak. ‘Perhaps you’ve heard of us?’

  ‘Sorry mate,’ Blaklok replied, glancing around warily, trying to make sure none of them tried to take him unawares. ‘I haven’t been to the circus for ages.’

  It was impossible to read any emotion on the flayed face, but Blaklok was pretty sure his comment didn’t go down well.

  That made him feel quite warm inside.

  ‘Before we end your days, please allow me to introduce myself. I am Flense. Though not the leader of this picturesque party, I am what you might call the figurehead.’

  Flense’s lack of lips didn’t seem to affect his speech and Blaklok was amazed by how he managed to pronounce hard consonants without them.

  ‘The beautiful lady to your left is affectionately known as the Punctress. You’ll be having a lot of fun with her, I assure you. My metallic friend here,’ Flense gestured to the towering clockwork man at his side, ‘is the Timekeeper, quite a modern marvel if I do say so. You’ve already met Gorbo there, he does so like to play with his food.’ Blaklok glanced back at the hulking ball of muscle that had nearly crushed him, to see him grinning a wide, bovine smile. ‘And Shriek here is–’

  ‘All right, all right, cut the crap.’ Blaklok had had more than enough of the introductions. ‘I don’t need to know who you are before I kick the shit out of you. If you want some, come on then.’

  ‘Ooh, you are a coarse one!’ The expression on Flense’s face was probably the closest it could ever come to looking offended. ‘Don’t you even want to know why you’re about to die? Are you not at all curious as to who has authorised your death warrant?’

  ‘Go on then, if it makes you feel better,’ replied Blaklok, his patience running thin.

  ‘You have provoked the ire of the Lord of the Underworld himself. The Montserrat, master of the Cistern and commander of the Chambers, has sanctioned your demise, Thaddeus Blaklok. Now, I would be happy to listen to any pleas for mercy you might have.’

  Blaklok glanced at Quickstep, who gave an almost imperceptible shrug. Before Flense could bore him any further he leapt at the Punctress, who still held the Key of Lunos in one tattooed hand. Blaklok had to hand it to her, she was fast. At his sudden approach, she took a step back, flailing the whip behind her in readiness to strike. The thick studded leather swept through the air, cutting towards Blaklok with lethal velocity, but he managed to raise an arm as it swept towards him. He could feel it sting his flesh as it wrapped around his forearm, but it wasn’t the worst pain he had felt in recent days. As the whip curled around his arm he grasped it, pulling tight and forcing the Punctress closer. His other arm was raised in a fist that smashed into her suddenly surprised face.

  Blood and nose rings sprayed across the plaza. The Punctress went down easily, losing her grip on her whip and the Key of Lunos. He could hear the sound of the other Hounds charging in as he reached for the Key, but all that mattered was that he retrieved the artefact – he could worry about the pain and bruises later.

  Blaklok grasped the Key and tensed his body in preparation for the coming blow. It was Gorbo, the hulking brute, who was first to reach him. The ape-like figure shoulder barged him, and Blaklok was thrown through the air. The wind was almost punched out of him as he soared across the plaza, right into the path of the clockwork figure of the Timekeeper. One solid metal arm swept down as Blaklok landed, threatening to transfix him where he lay, but he managed to roll just in time as the steel appendage smashed into the ground, shattering the paving stone beneath.

  As Blaklok got to his feet he saw that Quickstep was still present, and had not taken the opportunity to flee.

  He must have wanted the Key more than Blaklok realised.

  Even now he was bravely facing up to a torrent of throwing blades as Shriek the birdman unleashed a razor sharp deluge towards him. Strangely, most of the blades fell wide of their mark, and the ones that hit simply bounced harmlessly off Quickstep’s drab overcoat. But Blaklok had little time to wonder what strange powers were at work before the Timekeeper swept in with another mighty swing of its arm.

  Gears cranked and cogs whirred as the metal automaton attacked, puffing steam from vents on its back and moving like some gigantic engine, bent on smashing Blaklok to pieces.

  It raised its arm high, expelling a gout of steam from a pipe at its neck as though blowing out a gaseous breath of air. Blaklok waited, picking his moment, hoping his next move would pay off. As he heard Gorbo galloping towards him once more he moved, dashing aside as the Timekeeper’s arm swept down towards where, a second before, he had been standing. But Blaklok
was not there, instead, the thick-necked form of Gorbo had rushed in, intent on smashing into his foe. The Timekeeper’s arm crashed into Gorbo’s head, just as the apeman smashed into the Timekeeper’s metal chassis, and both of them plunged over the edge of the plaza to the ground below.

  Blaklok could hear the sickening thud of Gorbo and the clanging crash of the Timekeeper as they hit the ground, but he had no time to gloat.

  ‘You’re a wily one, Thaddeus Blaklok.’ Flense was standing right beside him, two wicked looking blades in his hands, their edges a forest of serrated teeth. ‘But let’s put an end to it. No more running, no more fighting. Today is the da–’

  ‘Are you going to fucking cut me or talk me to death?’ said Blaklok, taking a step towards the flayed man and offering him an easy target.

  ‘Oh, please. Show some dignity in the face of oblivion, Thaddeus. There’s no need for profanities.’

  ‘Cunt,’ Blaklok replied, and spat a gob of phlegm through pursed lips.

  ‘Very well,’ replied Flense, sweeping his blades in swift, almost invisible arcs. ‘Have it your way.’

  There was a screech, ear piercing enough to make Blaklok wince, and before Flense could stripe him with those wicked blades, something flew through the air and smashed into the flayed freak. Both figures went down in a heap and Blaklok could see it was Shriek who lay on top of Flense in a tangle of arms and legs.

  Blaklok looked to the side and saw Quickstep grinning from beneath the shadow of his flat cap.

  ‘Now,’ he said, the grin suddenly evaporating. ‘The Key, if you please.’

  Thaddeus held up the Key. ‘Sorry mate. If you want it, you’ll have to take it.’

  Quickstep gave a resigned nod of his head. ‘That’s what I thought.’ He took a step towards Blaklok.

  A strange feeling overcame Thaddeus as the diminutive figure of Quickstep moved closer. It was obvious there was something unnatural about the man – the way he managed to resist any and all attempts to kill him was one – but now there was an aura about him, one that Blaklok felt was familiar. He didn’t glow or give off a strange sound or smell, it was something deeper than that, something more primal. Blaklok had felt it before, but for the life of him he couldn’t place the exact time or place, or even the individuals in question. It all added up to Quickstep being something altogether more frightening than even President Valac or the horde of rampaging demons the Cult of Legion was determined to inflict on the Manufactory.