Maybe I should go see him.
No. The original voice returned. It, too, had been gone for a few days, and I was pretty far along in convincing myself that I imagined the whole thing. Although how I knew to go to the guild house on that particular day would have been hard to explain.
“Oh, you’re back. Whatever you are. What do you mean, ‘no’?”
No, you shouldn’t go see Lord Pennywithers.
“Why not?”
You’re not ready.
“Ready for what?”
I can’t tell you.
“Knew you were going to say that.”
I took a goblin off the Board, waved it dispiritedly at Sarge as I walked by him, and went on my way.
I really needed to make some changes.
STILL RATHER CHILLY
Duke stopped talking and took a sip of his ale. After a moment, when he showed no sign of continuing, his grandson sat forward.
“Wait. That’s it? What were the voices? Did MM go see Lord whatever?”
Duke put his mug down.
“I didn’t say I was done. Just taking a sip of my ale. Which, by the way…” He held his mug up meaningfully.
“Not yet,” Lilly said. “You know what the healers said.”
“Bah, forget them. I got this far on my wits, my love for you and a mug or three of ale. How bad could it be?”
“Nice try, but you’re not having another yet.”
Duke sat back, his mouth turned downward.
Silence fell over the room for a minute or two. Lilly stared at Duke with a wry expression and a raised eyebrow.
“Fine,” he groused. “But I get another ale after this one.”
“Remind me to thank Jessup for getting you going on that trick,” Lilly said.
Duke stared at the fire for a moment, his eyes unfocusing as he looked back into the past.
“Well,” he mused, “Where should I go from here?”
DOG DAYS
Even though I still had some money left over from my almost-job with Wulfonson, I kept taking goblins off the Board. There was no end to them. It seemed that, as a rule, they never learned. Most were doing the same as everyone else and trying to eke out a day-to-day honest living, but as a group, they were always the most numerous on the Board by far.
And I was tired of doing it, even if goblins could be tricky. They had an uncanny ability to blend in with their surroundings so that they wouldn’t be noticed, which lent itself to all sorts of shady activities. And they had a keen sixth-sense that let them know when danger was near, allowing them to slip off and use their natural hiding abilities before they were seen.
When I first started, I’d spend days searching for one, until it was either careless enough, or otherwise too incapacitated, to take off before I got to it. There were several times that I only discovered my prey when it suddenly moved, and either fled or got in a quick shot on me before running away. I took a lot of minor cuts, bruises, and scratches in those days.
But now, I’d learned to keep my mind on something else while I casually looked for them, which helped to dull their danger-warning sense. And I learned to watch for signs that one was hiding nearby, like a break in the brick pattern of a wall, or a dim shadow thrown on the ground. Over time, it became much easier, and the wounds I gave out far exceeded those I took.
They say practice makes perfect, and there is some truth to that. What they don’t say is how boring it can become once you have perfected something. I needed more.
Orcs were the next logical thing. They weren’t the only game in town, just one of the more plentiful ones. But there were others out there, some more rare than others, and with varying degrees of difficulty to bring down. If you kept checking, and kept your eyes open, luck would eventually be on your side.
“Hey, Sarge,” I said, as I walked into the watchhouse. I had taken to doing that as a regular thing, but all he usually did was grunt at me in return. Someday, I’d wear him down.
I walked by him with a spring in my steps and a new attitude. Over my breakfast this morning, I did a little soul-searching and took stock of where I was. I had some money put aside, I was doing what I wanted to do for a living, and even if it was a little tedious now, things were bound to turn around.
And, most importantly, the voices seemed to be gone. I hadn’t heard a single one since returning from the Guild that day. Whatever they were, they seemed satisfied that I had done as they asked, even though I had no idea what the big deal was.
Yes, I decided that life was good, and it was time to start acting like it again. Nothing could keep me down if I didn’t want it to, and my new-found optimism paid off. There, nestled in with the notices of sticky-fingered goblins and sniff-dealing orcs was something new, an actual ghoul.
Ghouls are gross. They hang around cemeteries, or morgues, or churchyards, waiting for someone one new to be interred. For most of us, that’s a time of sorrow, grief, and maybe quiet reflection. But to a ghoul, it’s the dinner bell.
Yeah, they eat dead bodies. Like I said, gross.
Ghouls aren’t seen very much in Capital City, for a couple of reasons. One is that we don’t have many graveyards, so the pickings are slim. With a city this size, there isn’t enough free space to dedicate to those not actively using it. Bodies are usually either cremated or sent off to their well-earned rest in the country somewhere. Occasionally, someone gets put into a boat, sent out on the river, and flaming arrows are shot at it until one hits and actually catches the thing on fire. Which is a much more fun way to go for all involved.
Ghouls are also relatively rare. I’m not clear on how one becomes a ghoul, but I can’t imagine it’s a very pleasant process. And I’m pretty sure there aren’t mommy and daddy ghouls making little baby ones. Or at least I hope not. They must be made somehow, a thought that was equal parts fascinating and horrible.
This one, therefore, was a rare find, and just the thing that I needed to break up the monotony of all those goblins. I grabbed the notice and headed for the desk.
“Taking this one, Sarge!”
“Good for you. Don’t forget to write.”
He never even looked at it. Well, maybe when he found out that I rid the city of a cadaver-eating monster, he’d come around. In the meantime, it was off to Jacobville Cemetery for me.
The cemetery, or Jacobville as everyone called it, was in a northern corner of the city, bounded by the city walls on one side and a stout iron fence on the others. Most people stayed clear of it, unless they knew someone with an exorbitant amount of money to pay to be buried there, or had relatives who were. Plus, a lot of weird things happen in Capital City, and graveyards tend to amplify that.
No-one was sure why it was named the Jacobville Cemetery, since that wasn’t a recognized part of the city. There was no Jacobville, and I never spoke to anyone who knew if there ever even was a Jacob or why there was a cemetery named after him. Right now, however, I needed to go see a man by the name of Mr. Crenshaw, listed as the caretaker.
His hut was outside of the gate leading into the cemetery, a small stone affair, with a sturdy door and thick windows, covered over with years’ worth of dust. I banged on the door and waited, until it opened a crack and an elderly voice, wavering, but still with a lot of vitality in it, answered. “Yes?”
“Mr. Crenshaw? I’m Duke Grandfather, Nuisance Man, and I’m here about your ghoul problem.”
“Oh? Oh. In that case, come in.”
The door was opened further, and I stepped into a surprisingly homey little room. There was a comfortable chair, with a small side table next to it, positioned in front of a short, but full, bookcase. A pot-bellied iron stove stood nearby, glowing warmly through the grate in the front, and a kettle of water steaming away on top.
Mr. Crenshaw was a small, elderly man, with a fringe of white hair and glasses perched on his nose. He peered at me over the top of them, and then moved to the stove, took the kettle from it, and held it up to me. “Tea?”
“Thanks, no.” While I appreciated the gesture, I never touched the stuff. My liquid intake was almost exclusively ale or coffee, with a little water thrown in when I really needed it. And as homey as his shack was, I was anxious to get moving on this ghoul.
“Where did you last see the ghoul, Mr. Crenshaw?”
“In there.” He waved vaguely in the direction of the cemetery. “Thought it was some kid at first, playing around, the way they do. But when I got closer, I saw that it was gnawing away on something. It wasn’t until I was almost on the darn thing that I noticed what that was. I know Mrs. Lattimore don’t need that leg anymore, but still, some things just ain’t right.”
He stopped to pour hot water over his tea, humming to himself a little. “Sure I can’t interest you in some? It’s got orange peels in it.”
“No, thanks. What happened then?”
“Oh, that thing sort of hissed at me, like a cat would if you tried to take a mouse away from it. Surprised me something fierce, I don’t mind saying. Then I got a better look at it and seen all the open sores and scabs and whatnot. Took note of the rotten teeth, too. But the eyes. You know how they got them glowy blue eyes? Well, that pretty much told me what I needed to know. Ghoul. Next morning, off I went to your watchhouse and put that notice there on your Board. And now here you are.”
A smile creased his lined face.
“Yeah,” I said, slowly “here I am.”
Glowy blue eyes? No, I didn’t know about that. The rest of it I was fine with. Well, not fine with like I was okay with a ghoul grave-robbing for a midnight snack. But glowy eyes might mean magic was involved, and I hated that stuff. Didn’t understand it, didn’t want to deal with it, and hated anyone that did use it.
I snapped out of my reverie and re-focused. This is what it was all about! New experiences! Challenges to feed the soul! “I’ll be off then. But first, I hate to bring it up, but there is the matter of my fee.”
“Oh! Right. Of course. Nothing wrong with that, a man’s got to make a living. How’s two whole gold ingols sound? Not bad for a night’s work, right?”
Two ingols was barely enough for a goblin, and I originally planned on negotiating a higher fee, but what the hey. I liked Mr. Crenshaw, I didn’t really need the money and I did want the experience.
“That will be fine, Mr. Crenshaw,” I said, and shook his hand.
“One more thing,” he told me, as he handed me the coins. “You’ll have to come back at night. Ghouls only come out then.”
A night in the graveyard, chasing down a possibly magical corpse eater. Sounded like my kind of evening.
When I returned later, finding the ghoul turned out to be the easy part. It wasn’t trying to hide. I came back to Jacobville and started hunting around. The graveyard was pretty creepy at night, especially with a full moon and the thought of a ghoul being around.
Mr. Crenshaw kept the place neat enough, but there was only so much that he could do. A lot of the stones had been there for long years and tilted at odd angles. The above-ground crypts were covered with mildew and stains on their stones from being exposed to the weather, and the few trees that stuck up from the overgrown weeds had seen better days, with more dead branches than live. And to top it off, a light wind picked up, blowing dead leaves and other debris across the grave-sights in little whirlwinds.
And there, making a noise like a pig at a trough, was the ghoul.
The ground was ripped open, like he had dug through it with his bare hands, and bits of wood from the casket were scattered about. In his hands was another hand, but not one that belonged to him, and he was snorting and snuffling as he put one of its fingers into his mouth and bit down. Then he sat there, contentedly crunching away.
His eyes did glow a bright blue, like there was a lantern behind them, but the rest of him was disgusting. He was nude, and his body was covered in open, weeping sores and hard scabs. His hair lay across his head in thin, lanky, greasy strands. If he was a human, I would have said that he was thin to the point of starvation, but seeing that he was busily enjoying his dinner, that obviously wasn’t the case.
But, his focus on his meal was to my benefit. While he was occupied with whatever poor soul had been laid to rest there, I could sneak up on him. I hunched over as I ran, being careful to avoid any dead leaves or sticks underfoot. I used the gravestones as cover as I moved around to the side of him, then to his back and made my way stealthily forward.
I managed to sneak right up behind him, sword drawn, and tried my best to ignore the horrible stench that he gave off. He still sat at the side of the recently torn up grave, smacking his lips, continuing his meal, and showing no sign that he knew I was there.
It was child’s play to plunge the point of my sword into his back, pushing hard so that it went between his too visible ribs.
For a moment, the ghoul sat there, not seeming to realize that I had stabbed it. Then, it let out an ear-piercing shriek and surged to its feet, turning as it did so that it faced me. It moved so quickly that it pulled the sword out of my hands, leaving me weaponless.
We stood and faced each other, the point of my sword protruding from the thing’s chest. It didn’t seem at all inconvenienced by this as it charged at me. I ducked back, meaning to slip away, to try to get behind it again and pull my sword free. Maybe I’d have better luck if I could cut the thing's head off.
Instead, I tripped over a tombstone and hit my head hard on the ground. I saw sparks, and the arms of the ghoul reaching toward me. The thought of being touched by it was enough to get me moving again. I rolled out of its reach, and kept rolling, until I banged up against yet another stone and scrambled to my feet.
The ghoul lunged at me, its eyes blazing and hands outstretched, howling like a lost soul, which he probably was.
I did the only sensible thing to do in this situation. I ran.
It chased me for a moment, but when I put a little distance between us, it stopped, turned back, and returned to its meal, my sword still sticking through it.
Now I had a dilemma. Swords are expensive. It took me a long time to save up for that one, and I didn’t have nearly enough money left from the Wulfonson job for a new one. My choices were either to be a Nuisance Man who relied on a non-lethal cudgel, or…get my sword back, which was really no choice at all.
Luckily for me, ghouls aren’t smart. I shudder to think what would happen if they were. So I could sneak up on it again, although this time, I made a bigger circle around it, being careful to keep it in sight, but move slowly so that I wouldn’t attract its attention. I came back to it as it was reaching down into the hole to pull up another morsel, leapt forward, grabbed my sword and yanked as quickly as I could. The sword slid out of the ghoul’s body cleanly, without resistance, and he never even noticed. He calmly continued eating, making those same disgusting noises I first heard.
The wound in his back closed with a quiet slurping noise, and it was like I never even touched him. I considered his scrawny neck as his head bobbed up and down as he ate, and then my sword. This wasn’t going to be good enough.
I stopped at Mr. Crenshaw’s shack on the way out. “I’ll be back tomorrow night,” I told him. “Then I’ll finish the job.”
I wandered the streets the next morning, keeping my eyes peeled. I had an idea of what I needed, but I wasn't sure where I could get it. Although there were temples of various sorts pretty much everywhere these days, none of them quite fit the bill. None, that was, until I ran into the Temple of the Good God.
Of course. I should have thought of it first.
Almost everyone knew Father Magnus, and what's more, everyone trusted and respected the man. He was the real deal. If someone was down on their luck, Magnus gave them a helping hand. If someone was in trouble, Magnus did everything he could to see them. It didn't matter to him if they attended services at his temple or not. To him, we were all children of the Good God, and thus all deserving of love and compassion.
It sounded like a lot of
bunk to me, but I couldn't dispute the man's dedication. He lived to serve and appeared to be truly happy doing so.
I entered the temple and saw him at the front, sweeping the floor. A task that seemed at odds with his standing as the most senior priest in the place.
"Why are you doing that, Father?" I asked as I approached. "Don't you have more important things to tend to?"
I really wasn't trying to be a smart-ass. With all his work, I really did assume that he had other things to do.
He looked up at me, his bright eyes twinkling as he took me in. "Ah. Young Duke, isn't it? How is your mother?"
"She's fine, Father. Thanks for asking."
Magnus made you feel that he honestly cared when he asked a question like that. Not only that, but I hadn't been to his temple in years, and yet he not only remembered me, but he made me feel as welcome as any other regular temple-goer. The guy was good.
"As to why I'm sweeping...well, because it needs to be done. There is no work beneath any of us, and besides, there's something satisfying in sweeping the dirt away, revealing the cleanliness beneath. But that's not why you came here. What can I do for you?"
I told him about the ghoul in Jacobville Cemetery and what happened when I stabbed it. Then I told him what I needed. He listened carefully and nodded when I was finished.
"I'm not surprised. Ghouls are abhorrent creatures, a direct slap in the face of the Good God, formed and protected by evil. While I usually frown on killing, in this case I’ll make an exception, and view it more as releasing the poor creature from a cursed existence. Come, give me your sword."
I drew it and handed it to him, feeling funny pulling a weapon in that place, but he took it from me calmly. I was expecting a lot of hand waving and chanting, perhaps a holy light shining down from on high, but there was none of that. Instead, he shut his eyes, bowed his head and quietly prayed over it. When he was finished, he handed it back to me.
"That should do it," he said. "Now get out there and take care of that ghoul."
Duke Grandfather- The Whole Story Page 59