by Phil Tucker
“Huggie daddies?” asked Kish. “That their official name?”
“Oh no,” said Sisu. “These are all the pet names I gave them when I was little.”
Kish’s eyebrows went up. “Pet… names?”
“Stay focused,” said Jarek. “The huggie daddies?”
“They’re four or five people combined into one large mass without a head. They move slowly and have really long arms with which they try to press you into their hollow core and then crush you by undulating their bodies violently.”
“Huggie daddies,” said Acharsis, voice neutral.
“Huggie daddies,” agreed Sisu. “I used to play at running into them when their backs were turned. You could bounce off them—” He paused at everyone’s expressions. “Never mind. What else? Oh. The skinny daddies.”
“Really… thin… corpses?” asked Jarek.
“What?” asked Sisu, as if that was a really weird idea. “No! Just their skins. They mold themselves to the walls or ceiling and then wait for someone to pass who shouldn’t be there, upon which they envelop them and constrict them till they can’t move.”
“I’ve changed my mind,” said Kish. “I don’t want to go into this ziggurat anymore.”
“Oh, it’s fine,” said Sisu. “If you have an amulet - which you will, or we won’t even bother - all these creations will just ignore you.”
“Oh,” said Kish. “Joy.”
Acharsis gave his head a shake. “All right. So we’re up against the deathless, the Seekers, leeches, Death Watch guards, floating eyeballs with no ears, amulets keyed to each level, huggie daddies and skinny daddies and so forth - anything else?”
Sisu nodded. “The doors at the very top levels are enchanted by Nekuul’s magic to only open to certain key individuals. That’s not even connected to the amulets, but their very souls. Finally, you’ve not mentioned the single greatest danger we’ll be facing: my mother, daughter of Nekuul, slayer of gods and empress of the River Cities. You can’t comprehend how powerful she is within her own ziggurat.” Sisu looked through Acharsis and into a memory all of his own. “It’s… terrifying.”
“What was your plan again, Acharsis?” Jarek looked his way. “Sneak in and put an apple in her pudding?”
Acharsis sat back with a glower. “Like I said. It needs a little fine-tuning.”
“What of Anscythia?” asked Jarek, looking around as if expecting her to step forward. “Could she be of help?”
“Possibly,” said Acharsis, rubbing his thumb over his chin. “Our wild card, especially since my father warned me that she would only do us a few favors before returning to her old ways. The more we depend on her, the greater the chances of disaster.”
“But…?” prompted Kish.
“But… yes. Our wild card. I’ll have to discover what she’s capable of, and if we can put her to good use.”
“Fair enough,” said Jarek. “For now, however, I’d relish a large, warm bed.”
“Already taken care of,” said Acharsis. “It’s why I chose this quaint tavern over the dozens of other seedy dives that litter the docks. Twenty years ago, this place was owned by an associate of Istrikar, my former spymaster. A safe house of sorts. Let me see if the current owner yet retains any loyalty to my cause, or at worst can offer a few empty beds. One moment.”
He rose to his feet, empty beer in hand, and waved off the serving boy to instead approach the wooden bar, behind which a saturnine young man with half-lidded eyes stood, arms crossed, watching Acharsis with a neutral expression.
“Greetings!” said Acharsis with a bright smile, setting down his clay cup. “Alas! Terrible news. My cup has run dry. Do you have it within you to help me remedy this tragedy?”
“Jasu fills the beers,” said the man without moving. “That’s what he’s for.”
“And he does an admirable job. I suppose I was just feeling nostalgic, remembering when I used to be served at this very bar by Kheresh himself.”
A flicker of surprise. “Kheresh was my father. He passed ten years ago, works the fields outside Uros now for the empress.”
“A fine man,” said Acharsis. “And a hard worker. A pity he doesn’t get to rest now that his life is over.”
The young man shrugged. “Such is our lot. You knew him, then? My father?”
“Oh, yes.Not so close as to call him a friend, but we worked together, you could say.” Acharsis leaned on one elbow and examined the mostly empty room. Only the truly sodden or desperate were still here, sitting alone with their cups and miseries.
“Worked together?” Another flicker of emotion. “You served drinks here? I don’t remember you.”
“No, not so much. Your father. He ever tell you about his other line of work?”
The young man straightened, growing tense. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You don’t? What a pity. I’m not here to judge or cause trouble. Just checking in on an old friend, as I said. Was hoping for a drink and to commiserate on how tough things have become. Way I remember it, old Kheresh didn’t keep the tavern open this late.”
“Folk don’t have as much coin to spend as they once did,” said the youth, sounding defensive and wary both. “I do my best.”
“I’m sure you do. But if you know anything about your father’s old line of work, then you’ll remember that he was trying to improve things outside the tavern as well as in.” Acharsis paused. “You sure you don’t want to share a beer and talk?”
“Who are you?” The young man stepped up to the bar and placed both hands flat upon it. “Really?”
“A dangerous question, my friend. Think of me as your father’s old employer. If that means anything to you, come and join my table. I’m just looking for news of what’s going on in town and a place to spend the night. But if you think it best to stay away, that’s fine too. My friends and I will move on, and we can both pretend this conversation never took place.”
And with that, Acharsis pushed away from the bar, took the jug of beer from Jasu’s hand as the boy stood yawning so hard that his eyes squeezed shut, and refilled his cup. Before the boy could protest, Acharsis returned his jug, then sat down with the others.
“And?” asked Jarek. “Beds?”
“I’ve cast my lure,” said Acharsis. “Now to see if the young fish will bite.”
“I want a bed, Acharsis. Not fish.”
“Sometimes…” Acharsis paused, trying to find a way to make the metaphor work. “Sometimes a silver fish will lead you to its river bed… no. That doesn’t quite hang together. Regardless, he’s the son of - ah. Here he comes. Success.”
The owner stepped up to their table with a mixture of hesitation and sullen defiance, a cup of beer in his hand, then sat when Acharsis pushed out a stool with one foot. “My name is Kheresh, like my father,” he said.
“Acharsis,” said Acharsis, putting a hand to his chest. “And my friends Jarek, Sisu, and Kish.” The other three shot him glares of varying reproof before nodding or smiling at Kheresh the Younger, who glanced at the epiphling but made no comment. Could he not detect its magical nature?. “Now,” Acharsis continued. “What news in Uros?”
Kheresh’s tone was still guarded as he told them of the upcoming ritual; how it was to be held atop the ziggurat before the entire city, how it was supposed to usher in a new age of prosperity and wealth for all the citizens of Uros and the River Cities.
“And do you believe that?” asked Jarek, voice low.
Kheresh stared down into his cup. “Can’t get much worse, can it? The number of dead working the fields grows by the year even as more of us starve. Word is that the fields are drying up. Where once the wheat and barley grew chest high and thick as the hair on my head it now straggles and dies. The Leonis itself runs low. Anything would be an improvement.”
“Anything?” Acharsis toyed with his cup. “Perhaps. I’m not sure if opening a direct portal to the land of the dead will be of benefit to the living, however.”
“Istrikar says the dead will always serve the living first and foremost,” said Kheresh with a shrug. “That this is but a means to swell the ranks of the servants so that every living soul may live a better life.”
Acharsis raised an eyebrow. “Istrikar said that? It doesn’t sound like him.”
Kheresh shrugged. “To be honest, that’s what he said Irella believes. Whether he believes it himself? Hard to say with that man.”
“Wait,” said Jarek. “Istrikar is here? In Uros?”
“Aye,” said Kheresh. “He was brought in as a prisoner a month back, but talked his way to freedom and has begun serving Irella. He comes by here every now and then. Same reason as you, Acharsis. Says it’s a good place for memories and beer.”
“Well, I’ll be…” Acharsis leaned back. “Istrikar serving Irella. I’d never have guessed. Though if not given a choice… what does he do for her?”
“I’m not entirely sure. He’s a cagey one. As best I can tell, he might be reviving his old spy network. Wanted to know how many of my father’s old friends were still around.”
Acharsis fought a quiver of excitement. “Do you know how best we can contact him? Where he’s staying?”
“Aye, that I do. He’s living in a large house in the nobles’ quarter. Just moved in last week, I heard. Doing very well for himself, so it seems. Why? You plan to look him up?”
Acharsis grinned and glanced over at Jarek. “That I do. After a good night’s sleep, that is. But come morning, we just might visit my old friend. I’m sure he’ll be overjoyed to see me.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Jarek fought to not hunch his shoulders as he followed the others down the streets of Uros. The buildings were packed together so tightly that he couldn’t see the sun, but instead felt as if he walked through an endless series of shadowed cracks along a dried riverbed.
This was Irella’s city, her place of power, and that very fact made his nape itch and his hand drift over and over to his belt where his Sky Hammer was wont to hang. Now, however, it was wrapped in canvas and draped across his back; nothing would give him away so quickly as an openly displayed warhammer of meteoric stone. Its inaccessibility grated on him. Every time he spotted an undead patrol or a deathless in the distance he yearned for his hammer’s comforting grip.
No such luck.
Instead, he fought for a neutral expression beneath his hood, and marched at the end of the line, following Kish, who followed Sisu, who followed Acharsis, who followed the youth the bartender had provided them. The boy was sullen to the point of dourness, and had met Acharsis’ every jest and teasing rebuke with a glower. Jarek had decided right there and then he liked the kid.
Uros was in a state of feverish preparation. Everywhere Jarek looked he saw people working to clean the streets, patching up crumbling corners of buildings, unfurling banners drenched in black dye with Nekuul’s symbol emblazoned across the front.
The workers didn’t seem happy, however, and that comforted Jarek. There was no lightness to people’s steps, no voices raised in laughter or jest. The people of Uros worked with grim focus, glancing nervously at Jarek and his friends as they passed by.
The number of the dead was staggering. For a few blocks Jarek tried to keep count of how many he saw, but quickly gave it up: numbers had never been his strength. But the gaunt, leathery figures were everywhere, standing guard with cheap spears at street corners, marching in lockstep in elite patrols, hauling packages, some of them even standing still and swaying as if lost, or more dreadful yet, confused.
Kish looked back over her shoulder and flashed him a smile. Jarek couldn’t help it; he smiled in return, but when she looked away his expression turned to a grimace. His hand tapped his belt and he felt that same jolt of mild panic at his hammer’s absence. Damn fool, he thought. Control yourself.
Their guide led them into a wealthier area. The homes became larger, expansive, some even decorated along their edges with patterns of embedded shells and colorful pebbles. Living guards stood at their entrances, and the road became smoother, better cared for. He saw priests of Nekuul - leeches - and the dead who patrolled here were clad in quality armor and bore blades of flashing bronze.
Concern gnawed at his gut, and finally Jarek moved forward, squeezing Kish’s shoulder as he passed her, up to where Acharsis strode as if without a care in the world.
“This is a bad idea,” Jarek said.
“Hmm? How so? We need to speak with Istrikar.”
“We’re being led right into the nobles’ quarter. In daylight. We’re going to be stopped. We should turn back. Come back under cover of darkness.”
“Nonsense.” Acharsis brushed his fingers brusquely across his tunic. “It’s all a question of attitude, my friend. Shoulders back, chin up, a smile on your face? You’re golden. Hunch over like a mendicant who’s been kicked by a mule in the holiest of holies,and you’ll draw attention.”
Jarek bit back a growl. “There’s a difference between confidence and idiocy.”
“We’re almost there,” said Acharsis. “Right, Tamu?”
“No,” said Tamu, not bothering to look back.
“Well, ‘almost’ is a debatable quantity. One man’s ‘no’ is another man’s resounding ‘yes.’ Either way, we’re closer than we were a moment ago. Now relax, Jarek. If anybody stops us it will be because you look as grim as a dream rhino about to give birth.”
Jarek dropped back. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. His heart pounded in his chest. They were walking right down the center of the road, Alok sunder it all. How—
“You there.” The voice was sharp with annoyance and easy authority. “Stop.”
Jarek did so, fingers curling into fists, and turned to see a young man in the uniform of the Death Watch approach, flanked by two other guards. He was a striking youth, with a strong nose and a mouth that looked prone to sneering. His uniform was immaculately kept, and a cloak fell to his heels. The hem, Jarek noted, was clean.
“Yes, my friend?” Acharsis bowed. “How can I be of service?”
“Who are you? What is your business here?” The guard looked Acharsis up and down. He clearly wasn’t impressed.
“I am Jaran, a merchant who has fallen on hard times, and I’ve come to speak with Lord Peshmar’s head servant about a loan that—”
“Lord Peshmar is not in residence,” said the guard. “He left last week for Zakir.”
“Ah,” said Acharsis, his smile disappearing. “How unfortunate. I would still press my claim—”
The guard turned to survey the rest of them. Sisu stood frozen, eyes wide. Kish was examining her nails, weight on one leg, looking bored. Jarek realized he’d clenched his jaw as tightly as his fists, and forced himself to relax.
“You,” said the guard, moving toward Jarek. “I know you. How?”
“He is, my good friend, a servant of mine.” Acharsis tried to step between them. “A callow brute, little better than an ox, but he’s good at hauling—”
“Shut up,” said the guard. He searched Jarek’s face. “I know you. Saw you, recently. Were you in Rekkidu?”
Jarek fought the urge to hold his breath. The guard was small. Young. One blow would drop him like a sack of barley. Then onto the second guard, an elbow to the throat, trusting that Kish would handle the third—
“I was,” he said, surprising himself. He cleared his throat. “Large shipment of dates came down from the Waystation. This was two months ago now.”
“Dates, was it?” The man’s hand drifted down to his blade. “Come with me. I have questions for you.”
Acharsis went to speak but one of the other guards buried a fist in his gut, doubling him over. “Shut it.”
Jarek locked eyes with the young guard. “You got questions for me?”
“That’s right.” The guard took a half step back. “Come along.”
Jarek inhaled slowly, audibly through his nose, and took a half step forward. He felt loose, dangero
us, ready to move. “Think carefully about what you’re asking. I’m just a drover. But plain as I am, I have but one life. One set of hours to live before Nekuul calls me. Think carefully before you waste my time.”
“Waste - are you mad?” The guard spoke quickly, his voice tight with emotion. “You’ll do as I say or suffer the consequences.”
“You waste my time and I will get mad,” said Jarek. He flexed his hands open and closed. Stepped forward again, into the guard’s space, forcing the man back. Intensity uncoiled within him, like a great snake awakening and rising up at the sight of a mouse. He held the man’s gaze, his own eyes wide. “I’m liable to get very, very upset. And when I get upset, I do foolish things. Foolish, violent things that leave me sick to my stomach after. Leave me washing my hands for hours, trying to get my nails clean. Leave me feeling like an animal.”
The guard’s nostrils paled and his lower jaw trembled. He shot a glance at his companions, but Jarek stepped in once more, forcing him to stumble back.
“Think carefully before you waste my time. Think carefully if this really needs to happen. Or if you might not be best served by just walking away. Think very, very carefully.”
Jarek was a fire being pumped by a massive pair of bellows. His core was growing hotter and hotter,a fire that licked at his insides and sought to escape through his eyes. He glared at the man, hoping now that the guard would provoke him. Waited for the first sign of him drawing his blade so he could reach out and clasp his head between his hands and squeeze.
The guard stammered and took three quick steps back. His face had grown mottled, patches of dark red showing stark against his tanned skin. He opened and closed his mouth several times, then pointed. “Get away with you. How dare you talk to me like that! If you give me any more sign of suspicious activity, I’ll have you strung up by the heels and flayed, understood?”