Duke Grandfather- The Whole Story

by James Maxstadt

  “What? You believe me?”

  He looked back up at me, eyes slightly narrowed. After a moment, he said, “I think you’re a lot of things. I think you’re arrogant and dangerous. I think you don’t really know what you’re doing, but you’re trying. I think you’ve got a lot to learn. But I don’t think you’re a liar. You gave that money back when you didn’t finish the lizard man job, right? What? You think we didn’t know about that? That lady came in the next day to repost it. Told me everything. If you’re doing that, I don’t think you’re lying about this.”

  I was shocked into absolute speechlessness. Not only did Sarge actually say a couple of nice things, mixed in there somewhere, but that was the longest string of words he ever said to me by far.

  “Get back out there,” he told me. “Keep your eyes open. The Watch is all over this too, but it never hurts to have help.”

  He nodded at me, then began to read once more. I knocked on the counter, because this time it felt right, and took my leave.

  My good mood didn’t last. The next day, there was another poem in the newssheet.

  i was there, saw what you did

  but you didn’t see me, so carefully hid

  you took my toy, and ruined my game

  and now, my friend, i know your name

  you’re not the watch, you’re not my prey

  but for what you did, i’ll make you pay

  yours truly,

  the hidden knife

  There are very few things that scare me. This was one of them, and I jumped so high I almost banged my head on the ceiling when the pounding at the front door came.

  I calmed myself as best I could and opened the door to find two watchmen. Both older, more experienced veterans, grizzled and with a look that said they had seen it all.

  “Come with us, if you would, Mr. Grandfather,” one of them said.

  “Where?” As if I didn’t know.

  “To the watchhouse. Sarge sent us.”

  Ah. That was a little different. If it was that captain from the day before who summoned me, I would have worried. But Sarge calling me in was better. Or at least I hoped it was.

  The two watchmen were polite, but distant, and refused to answer any of my questions as to what was going on, or why Sarge wanted to see me. I didn’t expect much else, but it never hurt to try.

  “Hey, Sarge.” I was determined to stick to routine, even if I was being flanked by two guards as I entered.

  “Thanks, guys,” Sarge said to the watchmen. They nodded and took their leave, heading back out onto the street. They left together, and I hoped that was how they were going to stay when on patrol. Maybe there would be some safety in numbers.

  “See the newssheets this morning?” Sarge asked me.

  “Yep.”

  “I figure it’s about you.”

  “Me too,” I said. “Big deal.” I was putting a brave face on it, but in reality, I was pretty nervous. Sarge had been around a long time, he saw right through me.

  “We can keep you here, you know. Keep you safe.”

  The offer was tempting, even if it meant staying in a cell until this was over. But I wouldn’t do anyone any good in there. Besides, no one was going to make me cower and hide. Yes, I was scared, but let this Hidden Knife come for me. He’d find me prepared.

  “No, but thanks. I need to be out there.”

  He nodded. “Think your ‘friend’ will be any help?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, which was the truth. “I can’t really predict when it talks to me or doesn’t. But I can try.”

  Sarge gave a heavy sigh. “I made the offer.”

  “I appreciate it. I’ll let you know if I figure anything out.”

  I squared my shoulders and hit streets that even in the bright light of late morning seemed a lot darker than they usually did. I walked, not even sure of what I was looking for, and all day my back itched, waiting for a knife to plunge into it.

  Finally, the sun sank down behind the buildings, and I tired enough to head home, determined that I would pick up the hunt, if you could call it that, again the next day. But I caught the smell as soon as I went through my door, that bitter, metallic odor that you learn to recognize quickly. Blood, and a lot of it.

  My sword was in my hand faster than I would have thought possible, and I pressed my back to the wall, freezing in place so that I could listen. There was nothing, only silence from deeper inside the house. Then…a breath, almost like a sigh that was coming from right there in the room with me.

  I stayed still, but there was no further noise, nothing to indicate anyone creeping toward me. I cautiously moved forward, searching for the lamp that I kept on a table close by the door for nights that I returned after dark. The only problem was that I would have to set my sword aside while I lit it, an action that I was loath to do.

  What choice did I have? It was either that, flee from my own house, or stand there like a statue all night. Setting my sword down carefully, leaning it against the table with the hilt upright so that I could grab it quickly, I found the lamp and got it lit. I picked up my sword in my right hand, the lantern in my left and turned, letting it illuminate the room.

  No attacker showed himself, no piece of dark from the corners detached itself and came toward me. There was only myself, and there, slumped in my favorite chair, was Mr. Crenshaw, the groundskeeper of the Jacobville Cemetery.

  He was breathing, but it was erratic. His shirt was ripped down the middle and there was a huge gash across his stomach, blood pooling there and flowing onto my chair and the floor below. The cut was fresh, the blood flowing freely with no sign of clotting.

  I rushed over, grabbing a cushion from another chair and pressing it against the wound, trying to staunch the flow. He groaned, and his eyes fluttered open, reminding me too much of the watchman in the Horn of the Unicorn.

  “Mr. Crenshaw,” I said, trying to remain calm. “You’re going to be alright. We’ll get help.”

  Remarkably, the man smiled at me. “It’s okay.” His voice was barely above a harsh whisper. “I have a nice spot all picked out. Near the big tree. Make sure I get back there, will you?”

  “Stop talking like that. You’ve got a lot of work left to do on that place.”

  The blood kept coming, soaking the cushion and my hands. I couldn’t stop it, but if I left to get help, he would be dead before I could get back.

  “Nah, my work is done. Now I get to be one of those resting there.” He smiled at me again, a horrible sight, and then coughed. “Look on the mantle. He left you a note. When you get him, give him a shot for me.”

  I didn’t say anything, and I couldn’t look at him. This man had done nothing wrong. I hardly even knew him. He was a decent, old man who needed a job done and been friendly and welcoming when I showed up to do it.

  He went a few moments later. I heard the rattle of his last breath and felt his body go slack. I dropped my hands, and the pillow fell to the floor. Everything, including me, was a mess. I couldn’t have cared less.

  I rose and went to the mantle. There was a scrap of paper with that same almost illegible handwriting as the note the kid gave Sarge. No poem this time, it simply said:

  stay out of my way

  I crumpled it in my fist. No, I wouldn’t be staying out of your way, whoever you were. It only felt personal before, I realized that now. But you brought it into my home, and killed someone who hadn’t done a damn thing wrong. Now you were going to pay.

  After I reported it and made arrangements for his body and to have my place cleaned up, I went for a long walk; all the way back to Jacobville Cemetery and Mr. Crenshaw’s hut, but saw nothing amiss. The place wasn’t a mess as if a struggle took place and there was no blood or anything around. If the Hidden Knife pulled him from here, he did it so quickly and cleanly that he left no sign.

  I sat at Mr. Crenshaw’s table and stared at the teapot on the little stove, not really seeing it.

  “Are you there?” I said it
aloud, but there was no response. “Whatever this is, it ends now. This isn’t a game. A good man died tonight, for no reason. Do you understand that?”

  There was no response. After a while, the teapot blurred in my vision and I sat and let it happen. After that, I dried my eyes, left his hut, and went home.

  I didn’t see the newssheet the next morning. The night before had been rough, and I didn’t sleep much. I was still so angry it was hard to think straight, and every little sound saw me bolt awake, sure that someone was creeping through my house. What little sleep I did get was filled with images of Mr. Crenshaw, slumped in my chair, bleeding onto the floor. Only in my dreams, he didn’t smile at me, but raised an accusing finger to point at me, blaming me for his death.

  “You look like crap,” Sarge told me when I walked in.

  “Feel like it, too,” I snarled. “Anything?”

  In answer, he pushed the newssheet across the counter to me.

  new games are fun, but they don’t last

  what once was new becomes the past

  lessons taught at night ring true

  but don’t you think i’m done with you

  the Horn of grief sounds loud and clear

  taking someone you hold dear

  yours truly,

  the hidden knife

  “Great,” I said, pushing it back to Sarge. But then something caught my eye, and I grabbed it again. “Wait. Look.”

  I pointed but Sarge still didn’t see what I was showing him.

  “This! Does the newssheet print these things how they get them? Exactly?”

  “They better,” he said. “We’ve talked to them, told them it could be a clue.”

  “It is now…” I said. “I know where he’s going next.”

  I should have waited, really. Instead, I ran out of there like the building was on fire, leaving Sarge to gape after me. But I had the feeling that if the Watch was with me, the Hidden Knife would find a way to escape.

  I cut the time it would normally take me to get from the watchhouse to my neighborhood almost in half, running full-bore, non-stop. When I reached my destination, I never even slowed down, but burst through the bright pink door, slamming it open.

  It was empty. No little girls today and no sign of the unicorn either. I stopped, breathing heavily, but listening.

  It occurred to me that whoever this was, he was a fool to come here. The unicorn would take him the same way it took me, especially if he tried to harm Bethany. But then again, Sarge told me that the wizards and necromancers were afraid that whatever this guy was, he was more than they could handle, so who knew how powerful he was?

  There. The sound of a scuffle, in the kitchen. I tore through the curtains and down the short hallway.

  Rachel was in there, on her knees, spitting blood on the floor. Bethany stood nearby, utter rage on her face, and the tiny unicorn in her arms. The little horse was sleeping, or unconscious, I wasn’t sure which, but the back door was also open into the alley that ran behind the building.

  I didn’t stop for pleasantries, and the girls didn’t try to get me to. I ran out into the alley and there, at the end, was a figure dressed all in black, hesitating before he ran out into the busier street. I pounded after him, and he heard me coming. His head whipped around and there was a choppy, hissing noise, like he was laughing at me.

  He took the plunge and left the relative safety of the alley for the street. I was hot on his heels. Whoever, or whatever he was, he wasn’t very fast, and I caught up to him quickly. My hand closed on his cape from behind and I yanked him backward. He flew off his feet with a hiss and crashed to the ground.

  I was on him that quickly, punching and kneeing at whatever I could reach. He writhed like a snake, and then a line of fire bloomed along my arm. I drew back, seeing the cut in my sleeve and the gash in my arm underneath. He made that hissing laughter again, and lashed out, faster than I could move, catching me across the chest. I cried out and fell back, which probably saved my life.

  He sprang to his feet while I pressed a hand to the wound, feeling the sticky warmth there. It wasn’t deep. It hurt like crazy, but I could deal with that.

  People gathered to watch. I heard mutterings in the crowd, and then someone yelled out, “It’s him. It’s that Hidden Knife guy from the newssheets!”

  Most ran, but a few brave souls stayed, trying to surround him. He looked at them, his face hidden by a black hood and hissed again. “Fools!”

  There was a yell and the sound of pounding feet. A moment later and a watchman burst past the few people surrounding the Knife.

  “Ah,” the Knife said, “there we go!”

  He was on him in a flash, moving so fast that it was hard to see it. What changed since I chased him out of the alley? Then I saw it, the blood, my blood, on his knife was smoking, sinking into the thing. He moved behind the watchman, his knife at his throat.

  “All of you back! Or the dog gets cut!”

  He dragged the watchman a step away, and I followed.

  “I said back!” he spat.

  “Why? You’re only going to kill him anyway.”

  He snarled, no hissing this time. With a shove, he sent the watchman sprawling into me.

  “DOWN!” The voice in my head was so loud it felt like an explosion, but it did the trick. I dropped as the knife whistled over my head, imbedding itself in the wall of the building behind me, as the Hidden Knife ran away, into the next alley.

  I stood and pulled the knife from the wall, expecting to feel some sort of evil aura from it. But it was nothing special. A dagger that almost anyone in the city would, and often did, carry.

  I took it anyway, and headed after him, running full bore, knowing within moments that I wasn’t going to catch him. He let loose with that annoying laughter again, opening the gap between us.

  The knife was still in my hand, and I glanced down at it, wondering if I could throw it and maybe catch him that way. That was when I noticed that my blood was still on it. I thought that it had all been absorbed into the knife, which would have made sense if it was a cursed weapon. But then, why would he have thrown it?

  It nauseated me, the sight of the thing with my blood staining the metal. That, and the thought of this monster easily outpacing me, getting away and probably killing another before he could be caught. I couldn’t do much about that, I was running as fast as I could, not even taking the breath to curse.

  I wiped the blade on the side of my pants as I ran. If I needed to hold the thing, and I did since it could hold a clue that some big-brain in the Watch could read, then at least I didn’t have to see my own precious fluid on it.

  Ahead of me, the Hidden Knife stumbled, his steps faltering. Suddenly, I was catching up with him. He wasn’t running much faster than when I first saw him. Moments later, I was within reaching distance.

  He stopped, whirled and struck out. Ah, no wonder he had been willing to throw this knife away. He had another, and probably more than that hidden about him. But whatever was causing his sudden slow-down translated here as well. I jumped back in plenty of time to avoid being hit.

  “Give it up,” I said. “You’re done.”

  He didn’t answer but lunged at me, knife pointed straight out instead. I dropped the knife, let his hand slide past me, grabbed his arm and twisted. He yelped and the knife he held fell to the ground. I pulled forward and slammed my elbow back at the same time, being awarded with a satisfying crunch.

  He staggered and I turned and kicked him in the stomach. He doubled over, making retching sounds, and I admit, I smiled when I kneed him in the face. This time, he fell, moaning.

  I couldn’t let up on him. He was too dangerous and slippery, and if he got out another knife, there was no telling what he could have done. I took a page from Wulfonson’s book and let him have my boot. His head snapped back and he lay still. I gave him another shot to be sure, and also, because that one was for Mr. Crenshaw.

  Breathing heavily, I stared down at the horribl
e killer, the taunter of the Watch. He didn’t look so bad now, just an average size person, clothed head to toe in black.

  Speaking of, I reached down, grabbed the edge of the black hood and pulled it over his head, exposing his face. There was something…

  He started to stir, which was impressive since I had hit him so hard. But three watchmen arrived at that time and took him in hand. When they pulled him to his feet, he came to fully and swore and hissed at us.

  “You’ll die! All of you! Butcher you! Cut you!”

  His ranting was disgusting. Not only the words, but the fact that he sprayed spittle and blood everywhere while he did it. Now I truly understood the term, “stark raving mad.”

  Still….there was something. His face was drawn and haggard, his cheeks sunk in, and dark circles under his eyes. His hair was gray and thin, hanging down in greasy strands on each side of his face. But, I knew that face.

  The watchmen were starting to drag him away. “Wait,” I said. They did, which may have been a silent acknowledgment of my role in stopping him. “I know him.”

  I did, but I couldn’t place him. Then, I saw him with a fuller face, and dark hair. Replace the raving with an easy laugh and words of encouragement for the new kid on the block.

  “Jarvis? Jarvis Rhinegold?”

  He showed no sign of recognizing the name, or me. But I was sure of it now.

  His name was Jarvis Rhinegold, and he was one of the Nuisance Men who answered Lord Pennywithers announcement.

  I stepped closer to him. This day, these last several, couldn’t get any worse. And now, to see what had become of someone who wasn’t a friend, but who also didn’t treat me like dung when I first started out.

  “Jarvis.” I tried again, but it was no good. He kept ranting, pulling against the watchmen in an attempt to get free.

  There was a pulse at his throat, like a quick, black, light that flared under his shirt and then died down. I reached out and tugged his shirt, ripping it open. There, hung around his neck was a gold chain, tarnished with age, supporting a jet-black gem. The gem pulsed with an evil black glow. I tried to pull it forward to see it better, but it was grafted to his skin and wouldn’t budge.