Kultus

by Richard Ford

  Searing pain enveloped Blaklok’s hand and he found the Key of Lunos suddenly spinning from his grip. At first he thought it was something Quickstep had done – some foul magick he had conjured – but instantly he realised it was something much more mundane. As the Key went spinning away, Blaklok saw his hand was held fast by the end of a whip, the other end held in the grip of the Punctress. She snatched the spinning Key from the air and leered at him, her nose and mouth fat and bleeding.

  ‘You must enjoy pain,’ Blaklok said as he resisted her insistent tugging and pulled her towards his clenched fist.

  ‘You have no idea,’ she replied, licking the blood from the side of her mouth.

  Blaklok threw his punch but this time it was the Punctress who was the faster, kicking out with one pointed, thigh high boot and catching Blaklok in the jewels.

  He grunted, dropping to his knees, and felt the unique pain that only a kick in the balls can inflict.

  ‘This is where the fun really starts,’ said the Punctress, placing the Key of Lunos between her lips lasciviously and pulling out a flat baton with a studded head from her belt. For all the world it looked like some kind of twisted love toy, but Blaklok had a feeling it was far more suited to inflicting pain than pleasure.

  Behind him he could hear groaning as Flense and Shriek began to stir, rising to their unsteady feet. There was an ominous clank of metal legs as the Timekeeper made his way up to the plaza.

  Quickstep didn’t seem ready to help him this time – the little fucker was trying to make himself as indiscreet as possible, pacing towards the rim of the plaza ready to make his escape.

  It was time for Blaklok to make his escape too; the Key would have to wait. As much as it pained him to leave it in the care of these circus freaks, there was no way he could take them all on alone.

  Blocking out the dull pain that went from his balls all the way to his throat, Thaddeus lurched towards the edge of the plaza, desperate to dive beyond it and run to safety. The Punctress pulled hard, trying to stop him, but Thaddeus was not about to let some masochistic bitch get in his way. He dragged her with him, her heels scraping along the concrete as he strode towards the edge. The whip untangled from his grip and the Punctress went sprawling, just as a shining metal blade flew past Blaklok’s head.

  ‘That’s it, Thaddeus,’ said Flense, rising to his feet. ‘Run! They always do.’

  Another blade flew at him but this one hit its mark, piercing the thick muscle of Blaklok’s shoulder. Shriek and Flense moved like lightning, closing the gap between them and Thaddeus but before they could stop him, he flung himself over the plaza’s edge, without checking to see just how high they were.

  It was a short plunge, but high enough to do serious damage if he didn’t land right. Luckily there was a large and bulky form laying prone on the ground ready to cushion his landing. Gorbo was just rising to all fours, shaking his head from his own fall, when Blaklok landed on top of him, flattening him back to the tarmac beneath. The bulky ape squealed as the air was punched out of his lungs, and Blaklok bounced off him and hit the ground.

  He didn’t wait to survey the damage, or for anyone else to land by his side and try to cut his head off. He just ran for his life.

  Blaklok let the streets take him, racing through them like a madman suddenly freed from the asylum. People stopped and stared as he raced past, but they were faceless to him, inconsequential. He didn’t know how long he ran for but it was long enough for his lungs to feel like they were two sandbags in his chest and his legs wooden blocks.

  He didn’t know where he was or how long he had been running, but eventually he had to stop. He leaned a hand against a grimy wall and bent over, sucking air into shrivelled-feeling lungs.

  The ground at Blaklok’s feet suddenly erupted in splinters, the telltale report of carbine fire exploding all around. Shards of brickwork were blown away beside him and he crouched down, raising his hands defensively. Figures surrounded him, weapons levelled, faces masked by the grim helms of the Judicature.

  ‘Hello again, Mr Blaklok. You do remember me, don’t you? I’d be ever so upset if you’d forgotten me already.’

  He did fucking remember her – more’s the pity.

  Blaklok turned and there she was, the stern features on that youthful face softening as she smiled in triumph.

  ‘It’s Indagator Amelia, in case you’d forgotten,’ she said. ‘Shall we?’ She motioned for him to follow.

  Blaklok glanced around at the firepower arrayed against him, a score of guns all aimed right at his head.

  ‘I guess we shall,’ he said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Another day, another interrogation cell. Thaddeus was beginning to feel quite at home here in the restraining pens of the Judicature.

  Standing over him was Indagator Amelia. He had never quite appreciated how pretty she was – how innocent her features seemed, at least for a representative of the corrupt, totalitarian regime that watched over the rich of the city at the sufferance of the poor.

  Her face was untarnished, not a blemish on that porcelain skin, and she seemed to have quite a regal bearing. From the look of her she had most likely attained her position through familial connections rather than hard footwork. Then again, Blaklok thought that a face like that and a well-to-do family might do more to hold someone back within the masculine precincts of the Judicature. Maybe she did deserve her position after all, maybe she had been compelled to put in twice the work for half the reward, merely due to her sex and her pretty face and daddy’s money.

  Most likely that meant she had something to prove.

  It would certainly explain the stick up her arse.

  Then again, Blaklok could only admire her for her tenacity. There weren’t many who could claim to have got one over on Thaddeus Blaklok. Well, all right then, two over, but she had help both times, so it probably only counted as once.

  There was only one goon with her now – the one with the carbine. She must have done some proper damage to the other one when she shot him.

  Ruthless streak.

  Blaklok was really starting to warm to this Amelia. Then again, that would most likely change when the actual interrogating began, but until then he would enjoy the silence.

  ‘A colleague of mine said I should just follow the carnage,’ she said.

  This caught Blaklok off-guard, and he frowned, momentarily confused.

  ‘To find you, that is. Of course my colleague’s an imbecile, and on any other day I would disregard his advice. But on this occasion he happened to be correct, Mr Blaklok. Follow the sightings of demons, the reports of strange characters brawling in the streets, and there you are, waiting for me. I must say it was accommodating of you to run into us like that. Hodge and I found it most amusing, didn’t we Hodge?’

  She glanced towards her tipstaff, who gave a humourless nod in return.

  Thaddeus turned to him, staring into those cold shark’s eyes. ‘Was it as amusing as when she shot your mate?’ he asked, with a wink.

  The tipstaff called Hodge stiffened slightly, his eyes narrowing with hatred. It was obvious he wanted to inflict some pain for that comment, but he wouldn’t without Amelia’s say so. That was good – discipline was always to be admired. And for one as young as this Amelia to have the respect and obedience of one so mindless and brutal was rare.

  ‘What isn’t amusing, Mr Blaklok,’ cut in Amelia, ‘is the devastation you leave behind wherever you go. Earl Beuphalus is a bloody corpse. The Repository of Unnatural History will never be the same again, so I’m told. Demonic manifestations and the theft of important arcane artefacts follow you like flies after a gangrenous dog. What is it about you that seems to attract so much wanton chaos?’

  ‘Guess I’m just lucky.’

  ‘Lucky? Indeed. As lucky as the family you butchered?’

  Blaklok was silent.

  ‘What? No smart answer for that one? Brings back memories, does it? Are they particularly pleasant, or is the
re a pang of remorse within that impregnable frame?’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Blaklok replied.

  It appeared that playtime was well and truly over.

  ‘Do I not? Am I mistaken about the woman and her children? About the pursuit by the authorities in which you killed a number of judicial representatives? Come now, Mr Blaklok, mistaken? Then perhaps you’d care to enlighten me.’

  He considered telling her where to go, or even taking a look into her psyche – ask about her parents, her past. Why such a prim and proper little madam would work for the Judicature. What was there in her history that made her want to prove herself in such an environment, when the obvious level of her education demonstrated a wealthy background and privilege that would mean she didn’t have to work?

  Instead, he decided to keep quiet.

  ‘Well, there’s not much I can do about that now,’ she continued. ‘It’s a cold case, everyone involved is now dead and there’s little evidence against you. However, what I do have is enough to see you swing. Theft, criminal damage, assault, evading apprehension, consorting with malodorous individuals, affray in a public place. By the way, was that the Hounds you were in a fracas with? Must say you do have brass ones, Mr Blaklok. They’re never seen in the open, I only know who they are from their descriptions. Someone must want you very dead.’

  ‘You know who they are? The Hounds?’ Blaklok asked, suddenly interested by her endless diatribe.

  ‘Of course I do. In the Judicature we know everything.’

  ‘Well, just goes to show you shouldn’t believe everything people tell you. The one with the bad complexion said they were never seen. Like shadows, he said. So you’re telling me you could find them if you wanted?’

  ‘What are you getting at?’ Amelia leaned forward, her brow furrowing. It was obvious she suspected something and was determined not to be duped. Blaklok considered the best way to earn her trust was to be honest. It was a virtue he seldom resorted to, but the current situation pretty much made it unavoidable.

  ‘If you want to see the Key of Lunos again, we’ll need to find them,’ he told her. Her eyes suddenly widened. ‘That excite you, does it?’

  Instantly she changed her expression, adopting a poker face. ‘What do you mean we? You’re not going anywhere. If the Key of Lunos is indeed in the keeping of the Hounds then I’ll be the one to retrieve it.’

  ‘So you know all about the Key’s safeguards? You know how to make it pliant? You know how to stop it opening doors to places you’d never want to go in a million years? How do you think we ended up with a demon of the Eighth Tier on the loose? How do you think it was eventually banished? Could you have done that? No, didn’t think so. Well I can, and if we don’t find the Key soon it’ll probably be too late. Some other fucker’s going to open another door to the Pit and this time it might not just be one demon arsehole on the loose – it’ll be an entire army!’

  All right, so maybe he was embellishing the truth a bit there, but it never hurt to ice the cake when you wanted it sweeter. So what if he hadn’t been the one to banish Valac? This Amelia wasn’t going to know that.

  ‘You’re barking up the wrong tree here, Mr Blaklok. I don’t give much credit to stories of demons and all that hocus pocus.’

  Thaddeus heard her words, but he could tell she was as much trying to convince herself as him.

  ‘You must be blind then,’ he said. ‘Got a rational explanation for everything, have you? Ten foot demons just a figment of mass hysteria? Have you been to the Repository of Unnatural History recently? Taken a look around? Half the exhibits are derived from malignant manifestations of the occult. No one believes in nothing anymore. Even the Sancrarium accepts that the Pit is fucking real. Open your eyes, love. There’s an apocalypse waiting to consume the Manufactory and you can stop it. But you’ll need me to do it.’

  She stared at him and he could see her starting to cave. Her expression wasn’t quite so stone-hard and her shoulders were starting to slump. Deep down she knew he was right, but she still didn’t trust him.

  ‘What guarantees do I have?’ she asked.

  ‘You don’t have any,’ he replied. Now it was becoming all too clear. She was a control freak, needed to be in charge every step of the way and anything less simply would not do. ‘But I’ll tell you what. You and Slow’n’Dim here can have loaded carbines at my head every step of the way. If I make a wrong move or if it looks like I’ve bullshitted any of this, feel free to blow my fucking head off.’

  A smile crept slowly up one side of her mouth.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, Mr Blaklok. That’s already a given.’

  He sat alone in one of the less salubrious drinking dens of the Cistern – and that was saying something. His suit was dishevelled, and it almost made Blaklok smile to see him fallen so far.

  ‘Hello, Snapper,’ Amelia said.

  Trol Snapper’s buck-toothed face was crestfallen as he looked up to regard her. ‘You can do all you want to me,’ he said, looking extremely sorry for himself. ‘I’m ruined anyway.’

  ‘We might just do that,’ she replied. Blaklok could barely hear her from his place in the shadows, but he knew he would be most effective if he made a proper entrance. ‘But I’m hoping you’ll cooperate. We want some information, that’s all. We don’t want to hurt you or your men. Not that there appears to be any of them left to hurt.’

  ‘I don’t have a crew,’ said Snapper, woefully. ‘I’m a laughing stock. I can’t even afford the good stuff anymore,’ he said brandishing a shot glass full of thick liquor in one limp hand. ‘Look what I’ve been reduced to.’

  ‘You can still be useful, Trol. The Hounds were unleashed earlier today. They made a mess on the streets above. It’s not often they do that.’

  ‘It’s that fucking Blaklok you’re after,’ said Snapper suddenly, a venom returning to his eyes. ‘He’s the cause of it all.’

  ‘I know that,’ said Amelia. ‘But the Hounds have something important, something they took from Blaklok.’

  ‘Ah, you mean the Key.’ It seemed to have suddenly dawned on Snapper what Amelia was after and he nodded knowingly. ‘Yes, well, it’s gone now. Doubtful you’ll see that thing again.’

  ‘And why’s that?’

  ‘Oh, you’re clever,’ said Snapper, smiling. ‘Draw me in, get me to talk. You’ll get nothing else out of me, I’m not fucking stupid.’

  It was a grim, insouciant smile. One that said Snapper didn’t care anymore. One that said you can do what you want to me, but the consequences of me telling you would be a thousand times worse.

  It was time for Blaklok to play his hand.

  ‘Where’s the Key, tusk-teeth? And don’t fuck me about.’ Blaklok stepped from the shadows, staring his mad stare.

  At first Snapper looked like he was about to shit himself, but he quickly regained his composure.

  ‘You don’t scare me,’ he said. ‘Not anymore. What are you going to do to me? Eh? You can’t hurt me anymore than you already have. I know what you can do, I’ve seen it. You hold no mysteries, Thaddeus Blaklok.’

  By now, the drinking hole’s other patrons had melted away into the shadows – even the barman had left on some hidden errand. It was time for Blaklok to resort to something other than standard methods of intimidation.

  ‘The Hounds have it, you little fucker.’ He moved closer, tensing his muscles and invoking the tiny tattooed sigil at the base of his spine. It burst into life, burning Blaklok’s skin like a brand. ‘Tell me where they are.’

  The air went crisp as though a fire had just been put out. The burning sensation at the base of Blaklok’s back began to move, running up his spine and into the back of his neck. It was intense, and Blaklok began to use the pain, focusing it on Snapper. Consequently, Trol began to waver, his bottom lip quivering as he stared into those eyes, now ringed with eerie black shadows.

  ‘They don’t have it anymore,’ Snapper whimpered.

  ‘Who fucking do
es?’ demanded Blaklok, now focusing all the brand’s hate and fury at his victim.

  Snapper sobbed. ‘They delivered it to the Montserrat. But it’s no use. You’ll never get close to him.’ Trol suddenly slipped off his stool and fell to the floor in a heap, trying his best to stifle a whimper.

  ‘I’m sure we’ll manage with you there to make the introductions,’ said Blaklok, the menace in his voice more than palpable.

  Snapper nodded, not daring to look up.

  ‘Well, that was easy enough,’ said Blaklok, looking to Amelia and her tipstaff bodyguard. The arcane fury he had manifested was now dissipating like a snuffed candle, but he was still an imposing sight to behold. He wasn’t surprised to see they had retreated to the far end of the bar. ‘What’s wrong, cat got your tongue?’

  Neither of them answered.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  By the time Trol Snapper had led Blaklok, Amelia and her tipstaff into the bowels of the Cistern, the man was a quivering wreck.

  ‘It’s just up ahead,’ he whimpered. ‘Beyond that door.’ Trol gestured down the tunnel and Blaklok could see a massive metal portal, guarded by two thick-necked brutes. ‘They won’t let you in, I tried to warn you.’

  ‘We’ll see about that,’ said Amelia, striding forward and putting on her best authoritative air. Blaklok had to hand it to her, it was quite effective. He remained at her shoulder though, just in case.