The Mermaid's Tale

by D. G. Valdron

  I stared at him.

  “Yes,” I said finally.

  One should not lie to the Mermaids.

  None of this brought me any closer to the killer. They brought me back and I rejoined the little Arukh at the edges of Selk territory. She’d waited patiently for me there, polishing that great bronze Troll sword she’d obtained. It amused me that she clung to so impractical a weapon. It seemed consistent with her character.

  By dawn, we were walking back to the lodge. I was tired and irritable. As I walked down the street I saw a face. The prostitute. She was sitting in front of a tenement. She looked up, catching my eye.

  “Copper Thoughts sends his regard,” she said.

  “What?” I asked, glancing around nervously. There was a movement in the street, like a knife slipping from its sheath. Some turned and moved towards me, no longer casual, as others fled the smell of danger.

  “Death,” she said without emotion. “Copper Thoughts sends you death.”

  Quite suddenly I was surrounded. I turned slowly. The little Arukh with me gave this strange squeal, a mixture of tension and fear. Her head darted around nervously.

  I turned a slow circle, glancing about. The blonde prostitute stood to my left, holding a knife. There were a half dozen girls, a couple of boys, all still painted from the Street of Joy. I counted them for little, just show and nothing more.

  There were also more I took to be warriors, or at least fighters. Some were just downriver trash, a few were dressed as the Horsemen. I tried a quick count. There were far too many. They all had the same look.

  Copper Thoughts was obviously a powerful shaman to own so many souls.

  The street emptied in all directions and everything seemed to go quiet. The warriors let people pass, staring at me. I growled.

  Pulling my long killing knife I let my head hang and advanced on them, grunting. Show me weakness, I thought. Show me weakness and I’ll cut past you and be gone.

  I’ll hole up in the Lodge and wait them out. They’d never dare come inside Iron Pants Lodge after me. And if they did, they’d never come out alive.

  The sounds of my footsteps as I shuffled seemed unnaturally loud. Behind me, I could hear the little Arukh rocking nervously back and forth, her hand on the long hilt of the bronze sword on her back, ready to draw but fearing to. I could sense her ache to escape.

  They bunched together against any direction I moved. I feinted, they moved easily to counter me. Behind them, onlookers began to gather, a crowd drawn by the scent of blood.

  Like wolves, I thought suddenly, just like wolves they hunted me. I felt a sudden flush of fear.

  “Abomination,” a voice rang out.

  Copper Thoughts stepped forward, walking casually until he stood in front of me. Pipe around his neck, he was resplendent in his copper beaded finery. He held two bronze knives.

  I stepped back away from him, cowering even as I drew my knives.

  He glanced at the little Arukh.

  “Begone.”

  She scrambled away, slipping past warriors that paid her no attention, spared her not a glance.

  “You touched the sacred Pipe,” Copper Thoughts called to me, he seemed just on the edge of coherence. “For that you die.”

  This explained, at least, the Hobgoblins’ attack earlier. Copper Thoughts had sent them.

  “Coward,” I snarled bitterly. “Will you watch as I cut down your dogs again? Or will you try me yourself?”

  I growled at those closest to me.

  The little Arukh had pulled herself from the crowd. She climbed up the side of a building, working her way onto a sun ledge. I glanced at her, she stared, eyes bright, panting hard. Safe now, she was no longer afraid, only curious. She wanted to see me die.

  I’d given her no cause to love me. I snarled a little and forgot about her. There were other things to think of.

  A fighter approached, catching my eye. He moved warily, his steps small and tentative. The decoy. I grinned mirthlessly at him, my heart pounding, crouching almost down to my haunches.

  I heard footsteps rushing behind me. The muscles in my back writhed. The man in front charged.

  I leaped to the side, spinning.

  The fighter behind me was a big beefy man, deceptively fast. I spat at him. The decoy lunged at me. I turned back swinging wildly. He backed quickly, almost stumbling, but I didn’t have time to press him.

  The other lunged for me again. I caught his wrist with my left hand, pushed it out throwing off his counterstroke and moved in. I kicked him hard even as I drove my knife into his neck. He gripped my wrist and knife even as he fell.

  I heard others moving in around and behind me. I pulled the dying man to me, turning his body outward, as I wheeled around. From the corner of my eye I saw the first fighting man closing in.

  I drove the fingers of my right hand into his eyes. He screamed as I curled the fingers into his sockets, the jelly running down his cheeks. I jerked him forward. He fell holding his ruined face in front of me.

  “Arrah!” I roared, crouching between two men, one dead, one ruined. My body rocked wildly from side to side as I swung my head. I slashed the air wildly with my knife, swinging it back and forth.

  “Arrah, Arrah, Arrah!” I bellowed. “Send me your dogs. I will kill them all!”

  I remembered the burned woman. My voice rose in pitch, “Killkillkill!”

  I leaped back and forth around the fallen men, slashing wildly at the warriors, not close enough to touch, but close enough to make them flinch. The fighters retreated. I rushed them, roaring, trying to get past.

  Metal clashed on metal as I cut and thrust, feinted and dodged and was driven back.

  I stood next to the bodies, crouching, my weapons ready, panting and shaking. I tried to gather myself together.

  Anyone who came at my back would have to cross the dead man. Not much of an obstacle, but it might throw off their stride or slow them down enough.

  Copper Thoughts watched.

  I spat and hissed at him.

  “You die today,” Copper Thoughts said, “by my hand.”

  I grunted.

  Then a thought occurred to me.

  “Will you try to kill me,” I grunted, “the way you killed the Mermaid?”

  For a second, he looked startled.

  “I kill whoever I want,” he said, “however I want.”

  “Try,” I said, with the bravado I had left.

  “I will cut out your glands,” snarled Copper Thoughts, “I will take all your power and make it powder for my pipe. I will suck on your spirit to make me strong.”

  He raised the pipe to his nostrils and depressed a stud. He grunted.

  “Courage,” he said.

  I should charge him now, I thought, but my legs wouldn’t move. I could only wait for him.

  He depressed another stud. His snort was almost a cry of pain. Veins stood out in stark relief on his face and arms.

  “Strength,” he choked.

  He depressed a third stud on the pipe. He shrieked and seemed to stagger unsteadily. His body swelled as he drew breath.

  “Speed,” he cried.

  He stood there for a second, swaying and panting as the magic coursed through him. His eyes bulged, black fluid trickled from his nostrils. The pipe dropped from his hands to hang again around his neck, but he still gripped the knives.

  “Arrah,” I roared at him, gripping my knife tight.

  He charged. He was on top of me before I knew it. His right knife came overhand at me. I barely blocked it with my wrist. I managed to catch his left in my elbow. His arms felt like iron. I was in too close for a counter move. He kneed me, lifting me off the ground. Pain cascaded through me. Three times our blades clashed. I backed away desperately parrying lightning strokes. He came in close, sweeping my knife away. His
face grinned madly inches from mine, he wouldn’t notice anything I could do to him. I was going to die. I dove in closer, my jaws closed on his throat, my head twisted.

  Effortlessly he tossed me away. I rolled, struggling to my feet with blinding speed. He was already on top of me. Blood spurted in my face. I barely blocked his right thrust with both hands. I twisted to evade his left but he slashed through my leather armour, grazing the skin.

  I staggered back. He was looking at me strangely. Looking at the blood that had spurted into my face. He looked down. His throat was torn out, his windpipe hung down his shirt and the artery spurted like a red fountain.

  “Huh Huh,” he sounded, and toppled.

  Copper Thoughts was dead.

  A whisper went through the crowd.

  I panted for breath, staring, feeling a rush of strange elation.

  Copper Thoughts was dead and I was alive.

  “Ah... Arh,” I breathed.

  “Arrah,” I bellowed, roaring to the sky. I caught the empty eyes of the soul slaves.

  “Mighty shaman,” I laughed. “Mighty shaman, where is your power now?”

  I stepped forward and kicked the body, listening to the sound of bones breaking. It flopped over limply, even as my heart leaped at the movement. It fell limp. Still dead.

  I laughed again, and stepped up, stomping down hard and feeling his ribs collapse.

  Yowling something incoherent, I reached down shoving my hand into the hole I’d made in his throat. I picked him up like that, waving his body like a flopping doll.

  I charged a fighter; he scrambled away. I rushed several others. They fell over each other backing away from me.

  I felt powerful. Dragging the body, I stepped back and swept the pipe into my hand. I let the body fall and waved the pipe in the air.

  “This is his power,” I yelled. I swung it against the ground, shattering it. With my hands, I tore it to pieces, flinging its little mechanisms in their faces. They flinched. Some fled.

  I was breathing hard.

  Mostly though, slaves’ blank faces looked at me, and then at the dead shaman. There were enough of them to kill me. One by one they turned and shambled away. Their will lay at my feet with its throat torn out.

  “Go away,” I told them. “He’s dead and its over.”

  I was tired suddenly, the exhilaration of survival draining out of me. I squatted beside the body.

  There was a knife in front of me. Not mine. One of Copper Thoughts knives, an ostentatiously engraved, oversized bronze. I picked it up. It was heavy, the blade too thick, almost an axe.

  It was a country tool, I thought, blunt and effective, made up to be gaudy and extravagant. Like Copper Thoughts himself. I glanced up. They weren’t approaching. Some had left. Others just stood there, as if they were waiting for a sign.

  “Go away,” I told them.

  Not the right kind of knife. I stuck it in the body. No more blood came out the wound.

  They began to drift away

  Soon only the blinded man and the blond prostitute were left. I sat on the dead shaman, watching them. A pool of blood seeped slowly from his body.

  The blond girl stepped forward, wary but resolved. She carried a knife, I counted it for nothing. She was less than a ghost.

  “Give it to me,” she said.

  I stared up at her. She swayed, not the purposeful Arukh way, but like grass in the wind.

  From the corner of my eye I watched the blinded man crawl to the side of a building, and then using it as a guide, slowly find his way around the corner.

  “What?” I asked her.

  I wondered what would happen to him. There is little need for sightless warriors. As good as dead, I thought. There is no pity in the world. Perhaps the Kobolds might find a place for him.

  “The armlet you wear. It is Lerel’s. Give it to me for her.”

  The knife slipped from her fingers as she reached into her pouch. She held out a couple of small pieces of bronze and a few coppers.

  “This is all I earned today. Give it to me. Please.”

  Wordlessly I handed her the armlet. She gazed at it with dull eyes. Then she looked up at me.

  “She is dead?” she asked.

  I nodded.

  “She was my friend. We grew up together. When I began to taste of dreams I shared them with her. She was always braver and stronger than I was. He took both our souls.”

  “What happened to her?” I asked.

  She shrugged.

  “You know it better than I do,” she answered slowly.

  Yes, I thought, I did. Lerel died. Mira died. The trail had lead back to Copper Thoughts. It was finished, and the Selk would be pleased. Except...

  “Tell me about the iron knife,” I ordered her.

  “What knife?”

  “Copper Thoughts had an iron knife,” I said, I moved my hands miming it. “This long, two edges. Where is it?”

  “He had no iron knife,” she said. “Those are his knives.” She pointed at the one I held, and another a few feet from us.

  I glanced at them. Not the right knife, I thought, neither one. Not the right knife for the killings.

  Copper Thoughts had admitted it to me.

  Or had he? Was it just arrogant bluster? Thinking back, I couldn’t be sure if he’d even known what I asked.

  If it wasn’t him, who was it? How did it connect to Copper Thoughts? I couldn’t imagine an Arukh, no matter how clever, bending a shaman to his will.

  Had he bent an Arukh instead? And favoured this Arukh with an iron knife while he made do with bronze? That made no sense.

  “Why did Copper Thoughts come after me?” I asked.

  “You touched the pipe. We all saw you.”

  Fool, I thought irritably.

  “Not enough,” I told her. “Why else?”

  I wanted to hear her say that Copper Thoughts had done it. If not that, I wanted her to tell me who stood behind Copper Thoughts.

  She shrugged, turning the armlet over and over in her hand.

  “You had Lerel’s armlet. You talked about killing. Maybe he thought you’d killed Lerel.”

  Fool, I thought again. There was nothing inside her. Just an empty half-life, half lived. I turned and examined the shaman’s body.

  His head lolled, dangling with only the bone and cords of flesh holding it. I picked up one of his knives and sawed it loose. Freed, the head lolled on its side, a foot from the body, expression vacant. His knives had been better than mine. I decided to keep them.

  His body was drenched with blood, soaking the fine leather and cloth workings that covered him. Little pouches, bags, dangled from fringe and tassels all over him. Magic. I noticed that in my elation, I’d already torn several open. I shivered. I tried not to disturb the rest. He had gold on him.

  I thought about that. Flashy, ostentatious, gold was a sign of his power. He’d like having gold. He’d probably spend it freely.

  Where would it come from? His slaves would pay in copper and bronze.

  Iron knife?

  “Do you know who spent on him?” I asked the girl.

  She didn’t seem to hear me.

  “Lerel tried to get away. She wanted her soul back. But no shaman would help her against another shaman. She tried anyway. She was stronger than me. I didn’t fight,” she mumbled.

  So Copper Thoughts had killed her, I thought, and fed her to his magic, the way he’d killed the Mermaid. The way he killed the others. Was it for magic, or just madness? How had he managed to hide it so long, and from so many?

  Where was the knife? It always came back to the knife.

  “Did you do anyone with gold before you came here?” I asked doggedly. “Did anyone give gold to your master?”

  “An Arukh.”

  My ears perked up.<
br />
  “But he didn’t give me anything. He gave gold to Copper Thoughts. Copper Thoughts lets him have me.” She sniffled, “I don’t mind. He doesn’t hurt me.”

  “Did he have an iron knife?” I asked.

  She shook her head.

  “He is nice. He doesn’t hurt us. He used to do Lerel too.”

  My heart leaped at that. This Arukh was linked with Lerel. It was the best connection I’d heard.

  “You should get to know him better,” I told her wryly, “What does he look like?”

  “Lerel was my friend. I liked to pretend that she had escaped.”

  I looked at her. Whatever she felt for her friend, it was a distant and empty thing. More a memory than a real feeling. She was empty inside, like an Arukh, but without even hate and rage.

  This is what we are, I thought, without the madness that drives us on, we are empty things.

  She toyed with the band in her hands.

  “What does he look like?”

  For an instant, I thought she hadn’t heard me.

  “Like an Arukh, of course.”

  She understood the question. Good.

  “Older. Short. Long skinny arms and legs. He has a southern accent, not like the City Arukh. He has a dent on his head where the hair doesn’t grow. He runs with Humans.”

  “I want to find him.”

  “He’s right there.” She pointed.

  I looked up. Caught a glimpse of scarred face at the corner the blind man had found his way past, and then it was gone.

  I did not follow. I was too close to trembling from the Shaman. Whatever strength I had was fled, but I’d have it back.

  “I know you,” I whispered, “Arukh that rides with men. I know you now, and I will have you.”

  He’d learned, I realized, from the Humans. He’d taken their butchery, their savagery, and brought Arukh lusts to it. He was the one, I knew with a sudden merciless certainty, that killed the Mermaid, that killed the others.

  “I will have you,” I promised the empty air.

  I heard a sound behind me, a furtive scratching.

  I turned. The young female crouched on the other side of the street. She’d climbed down and sidled close. Her eyes still shone.