Scoundrels' Jig (The Chronicles of Eridia)
Page 34
Part of the heap of moraine had been washed away by the intense spring storms a few months back, exposing the entrance to a building that had lain beneath the rocks for some unguessable period of time. All that was visible was a narrow triangle of the façade, at the bottom of which was a blank brown door. Above the door was a sign, no doubt the name of the establishment, but the moraine covered most of it. Only the letters ARLIG were visible.
But what really attracted everyone’s attention was the metallic humanoid figure standing ten feet in front of the door.
Its head was long and narrow with a pair of dark horizontal slits for eyes and a line of vertical slits for a mouth. Batwing-like projections extended from the sides of its head. Its arms and legs were sleek and segmented like the artificial arms of a cartoon character named Dr. Octopus that Daddy Vermin once saw on an old pre-Cataclysm drinking glass. But instead of the claws that Dr. Octopus had sported at the ends of his arms, this thing had buzz-saw blades. Over its cylindrical metal torso it wore a white tunic with a stylized red bird in a circle emblazoned on the chest. The bottom of the tunic tapered to two narrow strips, one in front and one in back, that extended halfway down the creature’s legs. When the wind blew, these strips flapped like banners.
At first the Zombie Hill Boys suspected that this creature was a man in armor, but a closer look made it clear that though it was the right height for a human, its arms and legs were far too thin. Plus, it didn’t move. It just stood there with its head down, its arms hanging at its sides, the only movement being the flutter of its tunic in the wind. It had to be either a statue or a robot.
The Boys regarded it in silence for a while. Finally the Hatcheteer whispered, “So what now?”
Daddy Vermin didn’t answer. He just kept staring at the metal thing blocking the doorway to the building, which was where the gold presumably was. Then his gaze took in the rocks and ground around the creature, and his breath caught in his throat.
The ground was a rusty-brown color that could only be produced by spilled blood. Lots of spilled blood. So much that one might conclude that a war had been fought there at the end of Ghost Gulch.
Then he noticed large red-streaked lumps mixed in among the rocks that covered the ground in that area. Some of these lumps were large, others small; many were a fleshy color, while the rest appeared to be covered in fabric or leather.
They were the pieces of dismembered bodies. Enough pieces for a dozen men or more.
The only logical conclusion from all this evidence was that this weird metal creature killed anyone who got too close to the building.
Daddy Vermin stared at the buzz-saw blades at the end of the creature’s arms and realized exactly how Ichabod Quackenbush had lost half his arm.
“We gotta be real careful dealing with this thing,” Daddy Vermin said quietly. “We need to come up with a plan.”
“What if one of us distracts it?” the Hatcheteer suggested. “Then, while it’s focusing on the distracter, the rest of us can rush into this Arlig building.”
Daddy Vermin pondered this, then shrugged. “We might as well try it. I don’t have any better ideas. But like I said: We have to be careful. It’s obvious that this thing’s extremely dangerous.”
“We’ll get through,” said the Mosquito. “We owe it to Bone Boy to get through.”
Despite the bravado of his words, he couldn’t help glancing at the Brooder. What was it the morose son of a bitch had said earlier?
Oh, yeah. Something about letting the bloodbath begin…