by Kit Hallows
I reached over, snatched the phone, dropped it, and crushed it under my heel.
“Get out!” The troll grabbed a crook lock from under the counter and wielded it like a club until Astrid appeared from the shadows behind her and placed a dagger to her warty throat. The troll dropped her makeshift weapon and raised her meaty hands over her head. “I don’t want trouble. They don’t pay me enough for trouble. Not serious trouble at least.”
“We’re trouble alright.” I nodded to Astrid. “ Bring her along.” I turned, slammed the shop door shut and sealed it with an enchantment.
We were walking past the squat dingy racks of video tapes toward the illusory backroom wall stacked with buckets, ladders and crates, when my foot struck something solid. An unexpected barrier.
“Password,” I said to the troll.
She shook her head. “They’ll kill me if I give you it.”
“We’ll kill you if you don’t,” Astrid said, and I was glad to see the old fire in her eyes.
“No we won’t.” Samuel smiled. “What is it the blinkereds say? You catch more ferrets with honey than you do with vinegar?”
“Flies,” I said.
Samuel rounded on the troll and gave her a wide, shiny grin. “Speaking of ferrets, did you know that the obtusely whiskered ferret speaks nineteen different languages, but only two could be considered real. And no one knows either, at least not in their entirety. Also, were you aware that their tails, when ground and cooked, taste just like despair? Or that their beady orange eyes were first documented in the ballad of the seven spinning sisters?”
“The seven spinning sisters?” the troll’s heavy brow lowered over her dim eyes.
“You know, twas eleven and thirty in the forbidden chamber of Agnes Hazzlebleth, and the fallowfala was almost screeching…”
The troll’s brows drooped even further as she shook her head.
“Are you finding my words tiresome?” Samuel asked.
The troll nodded.
“If you’d like me to stop, I will. Just give me the password and I'll go get you a cup of coffee. Yes?”
“Yes,” the troll said. She still looked at him with bemusement, but a flush was spreading through her warty face and her huge pupils were dilating. “I mean, your words are tiring, but your voice is like chocolate.” She blinked rapidly and said something but I couldn’t hear what it was. Samuel turned to the wall and spoke but I couldn’t hear him either as he held his hand before him and the illusory wall glimmered.
Slightly bemused, I stepped through and came face to face with the infuriating sight of Snarksmuth sitting smugly behind the armory counter on Bastion’s stool. He was wearing a garish golden tie that gleamed over his pressed white shirt. For a goblin, he somehow had an almost magisterial air to his posture as he glanced down at his thick heavy ledger. In one hand he held a mug, embossed with a big S and a picture of a grotesque, unpleasant looking chihuahua. I assumed it was his pet, but there was definitely more than a passing resemblance between them.
Snarksmuth looked up and the regal act fell away. His pointed, brittle face contorted into a scowl, and then fear washed over him as he looked around and realized he was quite alone. “Who…” he began as Astrid and Samuel appeared, followed by the troll. “What on earth do you think you’re doing?” Snarksmuth demanded. “This place is not for you.” His hand scrambled below the counter.
“Raise your hands where I can see them,” I said.
Defiance flashed through his eyes until I pulled my gun, strode up to him and pushed it against his creased, flaky forehead. He gave an involuntary shiver and put his trembling hands on the counter. “What do you want, Rook?”
“Supplies.”
“You can’t have any. You are no longer employed by the Organization.” Snarksmuth attempted to convey authority as he lifted his head and looked down his crooked nose at me.
“You know what,” I said, as I pointed the gun to his crotch, ‘it would probably break Bastion’s heart if I were to shoot you in the nuts, but I’ll do it anyway.”
He shrank a little. “For what reason?”
“For being as ugly as a Monday morning, and beyond annoying. Now I’m going to take what I need and you’re going to shut the hell up.”
He muttered, looking almost defiled as I began filling my bag with crystals. As I turned I glanced toward Bastion’s workshop at the end of the armory. The absence of light under his door made the fact that he was gone horribly real. Everything was different now.
I shook it off and headed for the ammo. Astrid and Samuel watched passively until I told them to take whatever they needed, and Astrid made a beeline for a case filled with knives. I was almost done loading up on bullets when I heard a faint thump on the back door of the small room behind Snarksmuth. “Who did you call?” I demanded, recollecting how he’d reached below the counter when we’d first come in.
“A few friends.” Snarksmuth’s wretched eyes gleamed. “Mine, not yours.”
“Let’s go.” I led Astrid and Samuel back toward the shop, but before I left, I turned and aimed at the goblin. He screamed, the sound high and pathetic. I pulled the trigger, shattering his Chihuahua mug and dowsing him in a shower of scalding coffee.
9
The troll followed us through the illusory wall and headed for the front door. “You stay here,” I told her, and nodded to the counter. She gave Samuel one last, wistful look as we fled out onto the blinkered street.
“Who did he call?” Astrid asked, as she gazed back to the video shop.
“I don’t know, but it’s safe to say they won’t be anything but bad news.” We dashed through the crowd but I slowed as I glanced back and spotted three figures emerging from the shop.
The first was Osbert, cloaked as usual, his floppy red hair bright in the early morning light. Two others flanked him, a tall man with fast, skittish movements, and a squat woman in a long furry coat. I had no idea what they were below their cloaks, and little desire to find out.
Osbert said something to his friends as they glanced our way and strode toward us, shoving people aside as they came. I could see Osbert’s knife, and a gun in the hand of the man beside him.
“Do you want us to take them down?” Astrid asked. It sounded like she was aching for a fight. Maybe to prove to herself that she’d fully recovered from Stroud’s curse, or perhaps she was just ready to flex her muscles. Samuel pulled an arrow from his quiver and toyed with the arrowhead.
“Not here,” I said. “We can’t engage them on a blinkered stree-” My words tailed off as they began to rush toward us. The man raised his gun and fired. I ducked, and the bullet whizzed past my head, the sound echoing like a thunderclap along the street.
The crowd’s reaction was slow at first, then shock, curiosity, and outright terror rippled through them and they scattered.
“What the fuck?” I shouted as I fixed Osbert with a disgusted look. We didn’t do this, not in public. He grinned. “Run!” I shouted as the man prepared to take another shot.
We raced across the busy street, using parked cars for cover as another crack of gunfire roared and a windshield shattered behind us. This was a disturbing development. It seemed the laws that shielded our world from the blinkered’s no longer applied. That they were under new rules of engagement, or possibly none at all.
“We need to get away from this crowd. There!” I pointed to a narrow side street. Nayhusk Passage, a tight, shadowy channel between the blinkered city and the magical quarter. The enchantments in place there repelled wandering blinkereds, that was if the dark shadows and sinister reputation didn’t manage do the job first. It was the perfect place to lead our pursuers.
I glanced back as Osbert and his companions came around the corner. He dropped his cloak and stood there, a full-on ogre exposed to any passing blinkereds that hadn’t ducked for cover or fled. Then the flabby bastard stalked toward us as the shifter shrugged off her fur coat. It fell to the ground as she leaned forward and mutated into a
squat, powerful beast, part hound, part humanoid. Her burning yellow eyes locked on us as she lifted her snout and tasted the air, tasted us…
The man beside her morphed into a strange-looking gnarled creature with green-grey scales, hooked talons, and a pair of stubby leathery black wings. I guessed he was part demon, part vampire, mixed with who knew what else. He grinned at us, lifted his gun and fired. The bullet struck my right arm, its force like a heavy punch.
I gritted my teeth as I pulled my own gun but stopped as I looked past them to the blinkered street beyond. “Come on,” I shouted. We ran hard down the potholed road as another crack of gunfire rang out and shattered a nearby window.
“When do we stop running and start fighting?” Samuel called.
“As soon as we get around that bend!” I gestured ahead.
The moment we turned the corner Samuel notched an arrow, then we turned and raised our weapons as Astrid raced to the wall and clambered up a drainpipe. We stood and waited for the clash. And waited and waited.
I glanced up as a shadow bounded over the slanted rooftops. The shifter's clawed feet raked the tiles, her hellish eyes fixed on Astrid, as she raised her daggers in greeting.
“Morgan!” I followed Samuel’s gaze to the darkness falling over us.
The vampire-demon had taken to the air too. I dodged to one side as he fired and the round struck the trash can beside me with a heavy clang.
Samuel returned fire. His arrow tore through its ragged wing, and the creature fell to the roof. Its face creased with fury as its ire focused on Samuel.
I was about to take a shot at it when Astrid cried out. The hound-like shifter was charging. Astrid lashed out with her blades, opening a wound in the creature’s chest.
The beast howled and stumbled back as Astrid ran along the roofline. I fired, opening another wound in its flank. It growled and rose up on its hind legs like a bear. I was about to shoot again when I caught sight of Osbert thundering toward me like a charging bull, knife in hand, gimlet eyes fixed on mine.
I fired, but the round went wide, then Osbert crashed into me. We flew back toward the alley wall and I smashed into a door. The rotten wood gave way and I scrambled into the gloomy building as Osbert hacked at me, his knife passing a hair’s breadth from my throat. I raised my gun and fired, the sound deafening in the tight stairwell.
The bullet struck his chest, causing him to lurch back in agony.
“Again!” he roared, as he pointed a meaty finger at the wounds on his torso, one fresh, the others presumably from our scuffle at the waterfall. “You shot me again!”
“Yeah,” I said, as I caught my breath. “That’s what tends to happen when someone’s out for my fucking blood, you moron.” I shot again, and the bullet clipped the side of his thick head. The next found his shoulder, punching him back before he could come at me but the next pull of the trigger produced a dull heart-wrenching click. I was on empty.
I holstered the gun as I pulled my sword and swung it to drive him back.
Osbert licked his lips as if reveling in the pain from his new war wounds. “I’m going to grind you into oblivion,” he promised. “Just as soon as I’ve unmanned you.” He tossed his knife from hand to hand.
I closed the distance between us and took a swing. Osbert sidestepped with surprising speed and the blade lodged itself into the ruins of the door and clung there. Before I could pull it free he swung his knife, forcing me back. I reached into my bag, grabbed a crystal, and soaked up its power.
“Crystals?” Osbert’s eyes blazed with glee. “You still haven't weaned yourself off of those pathetic crutches, and you call me a moron?” His long thick tongue slipped from his odious lips and coated them in a sheen of spit. “Sad, mad, bad ol’ Rook! His pretty pretty fairy prince never ever let him off his leash.” He tensed and prepared to spring.
The magic lent me speed as he lunged. I dodged aside and shoved his warty flabby back, sending him flying into the staircase. He crashed hard and struggled to turn with all the grace of a beached whale as I grabbed his rancid hair and smashed his head into the steps.
I ran back down the hall and wrenched my sword from the door as he roared, staggered to his feet and came at me. He hit me hard and we crashed into the alleyway.
He landed the first punch. The side of my face throbbed and white stars exploded across my vision, then a heavy numbness spread through my cheek. I rolled away as he raised his fist for another blow but it plunged into the asphalt instead.
I tried to stand but his fist caught me in the small of the back. The coat took most the impact, but not enough for me to stay steady on my feet and I scrabbled away to buy myself time.
“Here he is! The great assassin, Morgan Rook!” Osbert cried, “creeping and crawling like a slug. I used to like you, Morgan. I used to look up to you.”
“Sure you did, that explains why you've been trying to murder me.” I concentrated the crystal’s magic, healing my bruised and battered limbs as I stood.
“I'm just doing my job. You'd have done the same.” Osbert clambered to his feet and looked around for his knife, which was nowhere to be seen. He shrugged, clenched his fists, and ran at me.
My sword bit into his tough warty hide. He growled as he raked his long nails across my fist and the hilt slipped out of my hand. Then he came at me, my sword jutting from his side, boiling murderous rage flashing in his eyes.
10
Osbert was almost upon me. I jumped aside and shoved him into the building. He smashed through the window and before he could turn, I drove his head down, thrusting jagged glass into his neck.
He pulled himself up, clutched his throat, and gazed my way. “Fucking fuckerton that hurt…” He growled, and pointed at me, covered in blood. My sword jutted from his side like a macabre halloween prop as he bounded toward me, his eyes filled with maniacal rage. He swung a fist, I ducked but he head-butted me hard, sending old familiar stars exploding across my vision. As I reeled, he raised his head for another blow. My hand shot up, seized his nose ring and pulled it hard, drenching his mouth and chin in another wash of blood.
“Why?” he cried as he staggered away, his face slick. A moment later he crashed to the ground. I pulled my sword from his flank and was about to finish him off when I glanced back and saw Samuel firing an arrow at the vampire-demon swooping down on him. The arrow missed.
The creature snatched him in its claws and lifted its grotesque head, needle-like teeth gleaming as it prepared to strike.
I threw the sword. It blazed like a burning spear as it shot through the air and pierced the creature’s forehead. Then the demon fell in an awkward, crumpled heap, pinning Samuel to the ground as roof tiles clattered and smashed to the ground around us. I looked up to see Astrid fighting the other beast, her movements slow, her face drenched in sweat.
The beast had been slashed to ribbons, but its frenzy only seemed to be growing. It leaped at Astrid. She clambered away, lost her footing and began to slide down the slope, her dagger falling as she grabbed the gutter and clung fast.
I snapped a full magazine into my gun as the beast stalked toward Astrid. Victorious fire burned in its eyes and it gave a low, hungry moan as I took aim. The bullet tore through its throat, stealing its breath. The next passed through its heart and the third through its head as it slumped down and slid along the roof.
Astrid glanced down, let go, and winced as she landed on her feet. Moments later the beast’s corpse fell beside her. “Well played,” she called as I helped Samuel roll the dead vampire-demon’s corpse off his chest and headed back to Osbert.
He was still alive. Barely. He stared up at me, his eyes wet with tears. “You hurt me, Morgan. Badly.”
“You gave me no choice.”
“I didn’t want to do those things… he made me.”
“Who?”
Osbert gurgled, his words unintelligible. His head fell to one side and he stared at the bloody ground, his lips moving slowly, but no sound coming from them. He was
slipping away fast.
I stooped down and grabbed his wrist so I could search his thoughts and memories before they vanished. I caught a recent memory of a man with white hair and a long tailored coat standing in the Organization’s main office. He spoke quietly and with steely authority, commanding Osbert to take the mercenaries and stalk the city in search of me. Once I was eliminated, they were to report to Midnightside… wherever the hell that was. I rifled through his mind for further details, but his thoughts began to vanish faster and faster.
“Where’s Midnightside?” I seized his wrist, jolting him from his dying slumber. And then I saw it; a walled off park on the south side of the city with a tall white building concealed within lushly wooded grounds. I knew I’d seen those high walls before, but where? I… I’d passed the place many, many times, but somehow the specifics of each and every instance had slipped from memory. “Where is it?” I demanded. “And why are they meeting there?”
Osbert closed his eyes and gave a slow, rasping sigh.
I picked through his fleeting thoughts, scouring them for clues… there! Midnightside. Another of the Council's hidden fortresses, like Eveningside Station, only this one even more secret, its surrounding roads free of blinkered residents. Humble had summoned all available agents and mercenaries, which meant something serious was going down. And given it was a Council stronghold, Lampton would be present, along with every other lowdown coward affiliated with Stroud.
Osbert gave one last rattling breath, breaking my train of thought, then his mind became as white and featureless as a blank page in a book. I let his wrist go and closed his eyes. “So long, Osbert.”
Samuel groaned behind me, breaking me from my reverie. I turned to find Astrid holding a small brown bottle and pipette. She shot Samuel a stern look and then dripped a milky-blue liquid onto his wounds, as he hissed like an aggravated cat. “Not sure that’s actually helping,” Samuel said.