The Necromancer Series Box Set

by Deck Davis

  Jakub’s Minor Creature Resurrection spell was only a level [2], so it was touch and go whether he’d be able to resurrect something the size of a boar. Not only that, but he only had a broken soul necklace with him, so he had no soul essence to use on a spell.

  He wasn’t going to tell the Cleric that, though. No sense down playing his own abilities.

  “It doesn’t work like that,” he said. “One, it’d be a neat trick bringing something back when it’s missing a body. Two, the resurrection window-”

  “The window has been shut longer than a nun’s knickers. Gods, you sound like Irvine. Fair enough, ex-novice-come-vagrant. Sorry, though, I don’t have anything for you.”

  “Why would Irvine send me to you?”

  “To instill false hope? To piss me off and ruin a perfectly good afternoon of drinking? What did you think I’d have for you?”

  “I don’t know…some kind of cleric stuff.”

  “The guardship sometimes bring me in to help on things. Kind of as an investigator, except without the lingering smell of tobacco smoke and sense of failed dreams. Murders, kidnappings, that kind of thing; they like someone who can divine from the Blacktydes.”

  “And they use necromancers too, then?”

  “Yeah. The love that spell, you know, the one where you can see through dead people’s eyes, or whatever.”

  “Last Rites. It lets us see a person’s last moments.”

  “That’s it. Handy for the guardship to know that kind of thing when a corpse washes up on the riverbank. There’s been nothing like that in the city lately, though. Or at least, nothing they couldn’t solve. Tough break. Now leave me alone to drink until the floors start shaking.”

  Jakub left the cleric to his drink and headed toward the door. Since the cleric had no work for him, there was only one thing left; go and see Kortho.

  As he neared the door, someone fell into him. Jakub pushed them away, to see that it was the pickpocket.

  The boy tried to move away, but Jakub grabbed him.

  “No. No you don’t.”

  He quickly cheeked all his pockets and his bag. Satisfied the kid hadn’t stolen from it, he let him go.

  “Watch it, tramp!” said the boy.

  CHAPTER 16 – Lightfingers

  The others called him Lightfingers, which he really hated; in his line of work, it was the opposite of what he’d call a sensible nickname. Kind of like calling an assassin The Murder Man – it drew unwanted attention.

  Kelvin liked to think about his job as a craft. He was like a magician in a way, in that to perform a trick he needed to use sleight of hand, the root of which was distraction. Knocking a table, spilling a drink, bumping into someone, anything that set a target off balance.

  He was getting sick of it though. Every day was harder than the last. Not because he was scared of getting caught; at least in Dispolis the guardsmen didn’t punish theft by taking one of your fingers or hands. Not like back home, where a thief didn’t get to thirty without losing at least one of his digits.

  No, it was the pressure. He was seventeen, and he had four children to feed. Not his, of course, but other urchins like him. Poor bastards who didn’t have families, who’d run away from the workhouses and only to find out that life on the streets was worse. Kelvin had taken them on, shared his food with them, and when they were old enough, maybe he’d teach them his craft.

  “Better see what I managed to get…”

  He turned into Greyash alley. As alleyways went, this was top notch; warm air blasted from the vents of one of the bakeries, and the whole alleyway was covered by an overhanging arch. He settled under it, out of view from the street.

  “Two golds, three silver, four bronze. What’s this? Shit…a button.”

  Not much of a haul, but it’d feed him and the kids for a few nights. He’d hoped for more because in a few days there was going to be some kind of parade, so the streets were going to be rife with guards and that meant his light fingers had to stay in his pockets.

  Then, he remembered that he had stolen something else. From the vagrant.

  He’d snatched something from the vagrant’s bag. The vagrant seemed wise to him, so he’d barely had time to take anything. The strangest thing was, when he’d reached into the vagrant’s bag, it’d seemed bigger than it should. Maybe artificed, or something.

  He should have taken the damn bag itself.

  He took his prize from his pocket, only to see that it was an envelope.

  “Gods damn it.”

  As he tried – and somehow failed – to open the envelope, he heard footsteps.

  Three guys in robes were walking into the alleyway. Kelvin looked around, wondering if this was some kind of secret mage meeting point. You heard about that sometimes; places where mages gathered together and got up to all kinds of weird magic.

  “That’s him,” said one of them.

  He could tell from their builds that two were men and one was a woman, but he couldn’t see their faces. Whoever they were, they made him shiver a little. He couldn’t place it, but something unnerved him.

  “I didn’t think we’d find him in a gutter,” said one.

  “We tracked the envelope here. Henwright said he’d given it to the novice; this must be him.”

  “He doesn’t look like he’s from the academy…”

  Academy? Tracking?

  Kelvin didn’t like it. The rule of the street was this; beg, steal, defraud all you like, but don’t go poking into other people’s shit.

  He stood up. “Sorry, guys, I didn’t know anyone was coming here. I’ll leave you to it.”

  One of them grabbed him.

  “Hey, let go of-”

  Something smashed into the back of his head, knocking the words from his brain before he could finish them.

  He awoke later with a sore head and a ringing in his right ear. He had no idea how much time had passed. He only knew that he was now in a dark room, and that he was naked.

  And the three robed weirdos were staring at him.

  His head stung, he could taste blood on his lips, and being naked in front of these people and worrying what they were going to do to him made his cock shrivel.

  “Where are your tattoos?” one of them said.

  “Tattoos?”

  “The glyphlines. Show me.”

  “I don’t have any tattoos,” said Kelvin.

  “Is Henwright playing a trick?”

  “Who the hell is Henwright?”

  The tallest of the three pointed at him. “Check him again. Every inch.”

  And he did mean every inch, because Kelvin had to stand and hold in his fear while they checked every bit of him; his chest, arms, thighs, arse cheeks.

  When they finished, one of them shoved him down onto the chair.

  “Nothing. No glyphlines, no tattoos.”

  “He’s got a mole on his thigh…”

  “We’re not interested in a fucking hairy mole. We’ve got the wrong boy.”

  “But he had the letter. It has to be him.”

  “Boy,” said the taller one. “The letter you were holding - where did you get it?”

  “Oh, err, did I…Listen; I didn’t know what I was taking. I just nabbed what I could. If the letter was yours, I’m sorry. Some old tramp had it.”

  “A tramp? What the hell is Henwright playing at?” said the woman.

  “He’s going to find out that a curse can be given back as easy as it is removed. Kill the boy, dump him, and for god’s sake; make it look like an accident.”

  Kill him? They’d brought him here to strip him naked and kill him?

  What could he do? He looked around, but he saw nothing he could use, nowhere he could go.

  He started to panic. He pictured the children, alone where he’d left them under the bridge. They’d be pacing, asking each other where Kelvin was.

  He started to tear up.

  “I don’t have much, but it’s yours. Every coin. Just-”

  “Gag h
im and strap him up. I have enough to think about.”

  Kelvin struggled as the smaller man tied more rope around his chest, legs, and arms, so tight that he couldn’t move. He stuffed a sock into his mouth, pushing it so far back that Kelvin retched.

  “I am an experienced torturer,” said the smallest one. “My work is centered around inflicting the maximum of pain and destruction upon a body. Do you really think I can make it look like an accident?”

  “Hmm. I have had another thought. This lad clearly isn’t our necromancer, but we know that a necromancer expelled from the academy is in Dispolis. Tell me, what do the guardship do when they find a corpse?”

  “They ask the necros for help.”

  “Necros?” said the woman. “Did they never teach you manners, dear?”

  “Sorry; necromancers. I know you hate me calling you that.”

  The taller one nodded. “The novice was expelled from the academy, so he will need work. Soon, the guardship will need a necromancer’s help with their corpse. Kill this boy here, then take him to the trainyard and put him on the tracks. We want it to look like someone tried to make it look like an accident. That’ll create enough of a stink of foul play to have the guardship running for a necromancer’s help.”

  “What then?”

  “Then we wait and watch who goes to the guardship office. If it is a young necromancer who we don’t know, then we have our target and we’ll soon have our product.”

  “All of this trouble for a necromancer. Why this particular one? Why not just find another?”

  “Henwright says the boy has no family, few friends. Nobody to really miss him. Besides, we have orders to fill, and we need his special glyphlines.”

  “So, we just kill the lad here? You sure?”

  “Certain. And show his body a bit of respect when you carry him. He isn’t a bag of potatoes.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Jakub was woken up the next morning by someone knocking on his door so hard that it rattled. It must have jolted his neighbors in adjoining rooms from their slumber too, because each knock was met with a ‘shurrup, for God’s sake!’ and ‘knock one more time and I’m comin’ out there!’

  This was what he got for staying in the cheapest place he could find. He was only surprised he’d been able to sleep at all; the guy in the room next door sounded like he’d been having an orgy, and his night-long grunts were met with the fake ecstasy-moans of the women until the early hours.

  More thuds on the door made him want to fling his sword at it. He’d never been a morning person.

  “I paid until ten. If it’s not ten in the morning, you can piss off,” he said.

  “That you, necro?”

  He recognized the voice, but he couldn’t place it. It always took his head a while to clear in the early hours.

  “Necro?” said the voice.

  More thuds.

  “Alright, gods damn it, stop it. You’re going to have everyone in here out for my guts,” said Jakub.

  He dressed in his black trousers, white shirt, and put a jumper on over it, and then he put on his boots. He didn’t plan on going anywhere yet, but when an unknown visitor called on you unannounced, especially when you hadn’t told anyone where you were staying, then it was wise to be ready to leave.

  Next, he opened his artificed bag and put it on the table next to the wall. Then he took his sword and let the hilt poke out of the bag. Still mostly hidden, but easy enough to grab.

  More thuds. “Necro!”

  Another voice bellowed out, “Will whoever the fuck is outside stop that, or I’m gonna come out, cut your cock off, and feed it to the rats.”

  “That sounded a little bit like a threat,” said the voice. “Better let me in, necro.”

  Jakub opened the door to find the Black Cleric standing there, leaning against the doorway.

  After seeing him the previous day with at least a dozen empty beer tankards around him, and knowing that he hadn’t even finished his day of drinking at that time, he was surprised that the cleric didn’t smell of beer this morning. He didn’t look hungover at all, and he had washed up a hell of a lot better than Jakub expected.

  His long black hair was oiled and swept back, and his beard was brushed. His pure white eyes looked clear of the bloodshot veins you usually saw on a person who’d drunk enough beer to put a barracks to sleep the night before. His clothes, if a bit tattered, were perfectly-tailored around his big frame.

  “Looks like I might have a quick job for you after all,” said the cleric.

  “I’m glad you pounded on my door to tell me. How did you find out where I was staying?”

  “I asked around. I know a lot of people.”

  “Good to know I have my privacy. What do you want?”

  “Let’s talk over breakfast.”

  Breakfast, it turned out, meant the one that Jakub had already paid for as part of his room board. It was a cooked breakfast with sausages, egg, bacon, and beans. The innkeeper set it down, and as soon as he was gone, the cleric helped himself to a slice of toast.

  “They found a dead body last night,” said the cleric, dipping a piece of toast in an egg yolk.”

  “They? Is that the royal ‘they’? That undefinable group of people who everyone seems to get advice from? Like, ‘they say you shouldn’t eat cheese before bed’?”

  “You’re funny first thing in the morning,” said the cleric. “Come on, what was it? A spell? Some kind of necromancy?”

  Was he talking about the body? Did he think Jakub had something to do with the dead body?

  “I’m too groggy for riddles,” he said.

  “I know I’d had maybe one too many ales yesterday, but I’m sure that when you came to see me, you looked like an old man.”

  “Oh, yeah. That.”

  “Irvine learned a strange spell once. This is back when we were still talking, back before…but anyway, he’d only just started getting field assignments, and he came back from one so excited that it was like he’d shat a diamond or something. He’d learned a necromancy spell that let him take over a corpse and sort of wear it like a…like a …what’s the word? Yeah – meat costume.”

  “It’s called Death Puppet,” said Jakub.

  “Is that what you were doing?”

  He didn’t want to tell the cleric what spells he did or didn’t know. He had always found it difficult to trust people - having your father force-feed you dead flesh had that effect.

  That meant that when he met a guy they called the Black Cleric, a guy who didn’t carry any of the clerical religious symbols nor did he act like a divine healer, Jakub’s guard was up.

  He still wasn’t sure whether he was going to take any work from this guy, nor did he want to tell him too much. He had to give him something though.

  “It wasn’t a spell,” he said.

  “For a guy sharing his breakfast, you’re cagey. But that’s good; you need to look over your shoulder when you deal with the guardship. You’ll see.”

  “You said they found a body?”

  “A kid. Little urchin. Nobody knows his name, where he’s from, or why he decided to sleep on the train tracks. They found him cut in half. The driver who ran over him, they said he had a heart attack after he saw what he’d done, and now the poor bastard’s dead. That’s not the corpse they want us to look at though – it’s the kid cut in half.”

  “Yeah, I guessed that.”

  The cleric, finished with Jakub’s toast, reached for a sausage. He paused, his hand hovering in mid-air. “You mind? I didn’t have time to eat this morning.”

  “Go ahead,” said Jakub.

  “I like to dip the sausage in the egg yolk. Do you do that?”

  “We’re two peas in a pod,” said Jakub, picking up the other sausage and dipping it. “What’s your name? I’m guessing your surname is Irvine, like your brother.”

  “Witas,” he said, devouring the sausage in one bite. “Though the Black Cleric has a better ring to it than Witas Irvine.
You?”

  “Jakub.”

  “Jakub and Witas, necromancer and cleric dream team,” said Witas.

  “We’re a team now?”

  “Let’s just say if you need coin, I might have something for you. I need a necromancer, and the last kid Ian sent me, well, he wasn’t too hot. He threw up when he saw a corpse. You ever heard of that? A necromancer scared of death?”

  “It happens more than you think,” said Jakub. “And the guardship, do they always come to you for this kind of thing?”

  “When they find a boy severed on a train track? Not usually. Winos, people with depression, they sometimes end it all in a place like that. It’s sad as hell, but it happens. They call it the draw of the void; suicide by a means most people couldn’t comprehend. It’s sad, Jakub. A sad world.”

  He seemed genuinely upset. Sure, it was sad, but Witas didn’t even know the kid.

  Then, there was a thing such as empathy in the world. Jakub’s problem – his gift as Instructor Irvine would have called it – was that his necromancy de-sensitization training had eroded most of his empathy away.

  Witas straightened up in his chair. “The guardship don’t usually call me about suicides, but when they find a body on the track tracks and they think that he wasn’t actually killed there, the dullards seek a little help.”

  “So this kid was killed somewhere and then put on the train tracks?”

  “Yep. And stranger still…we both know him.”

  “Who?”

  “It’s the pickpocket. Remember? The one who kept walking into tables?”

  “Yeah, he tried it on me, and I snapped at him a little. Shit, now I feel bad.”

  “Do you, or do you think that’s the right thing to say? My brother was a good kid, you know, until they did all their de-sensitization shit on him, and he changed. He tried to act like he cared when bad things happened, but he had this look in his eyes that screamed he was lying. Kind of the same look you’re giving me.”

  “Maybe I don’t feel the same way most people do when I look at a corpse,” said Jakub. “That doesn’t mean I don’t know right from wrong. I should have known he was from the street, that he was just stealing because he had to. I didn’t need to snap at him.”