by Mike Wild
Kali frowned, wondering why. The old man questioned the soldiers no further, however, and the cart sank once more as he resumed his position. A clicking of his mouth spurred the horses on.
Kali remained still, listening to more muffled voices and sounds, not of soldiers this time but the activity of Gransk. The cries of men at work, the shifting of cargo, the screeching of razorgulls as they circled overhead hoping for pickings from the goods being loaded. She did not listen without reason – if she were to slip from her hiding place unnoticed, she’d have to time her move carefully. After a few more minutes of the cart negotiating the narrow streets of the town, the sounds became more mooted and Kali knew that the cart’s driver had steered her to a place of relative inactivity, as requested. Listening again to be certain no one was around, she slithered from between the slices of creev, placed a bag of full gold in his hand, and then vanished into a side alley, from where she intended to get her bearings.
The other end of the alley opened onto a main thoroughfare. Kali took her squallcoat from her backpack and slipped it on. A sailor’s cap she had procured elsewhere she jammed on her head, the peak lowered to obscure her features. Then she took a breath and, with hands in her pockets and head down, slipped from the alley and joined the throng of people heading towards the dockside.
The port came alive around her, voices amplified among the packed and overhanging buildings of the streets.
“Ragfish and jumpo, guv’nor? Two tenths a bag.”
“Ropes, hawsings, nets!”
“Hey, sailor, fancy yer chances with Mair behind the crates, do yer? Goworn, you’ll never get the chance out there now, will yer?”
“Hand over yer purse, lad or… ow! Fark! Pits o’ Kerberos, what d’ya do that for?”
Kali smiled and lowered her elbow as the grabcoin raced off into the crowd nursing a bloody nose. She ignored all further solicitations, weaving slowly through the crowd. It had been her intention to spend some time listening to gossip, trying to glean information, but where she’d expected the locals to be quite forthcoming considering the amount of work Freel had brought to town, there were surprisingly few mentions of the ship, and these only in hushed tones. Instead, she began to work her way directly to the dockside where she had at least gleaned Freel’s ship was berthed.
And then stopped.
The ship had come into view far before she expected it to, a consequence of its size. She could see little detail of it from where she stood but that made it none the less awesome. Made of materials that were almost entirely black, including its sails, it appeared in view like some gigantic wall, towering over the dockside, blotting out the horizon completely, casting a shadow over the lower half of the town. It left no doubt in her mind that this was the place where she would find all the answers she needed.
“Don’t you go near that ship, young lad,” a voice said suddenly from beside her. “Arsk me, she’s cursed.”
Kali turned to see a grizzled old seadog. “Cursed?”
“Aye, cursed. I’ve seen men carried out o’ the bowels o’ that thing with their flesh rottin’ off ’em, as if they got the worst case o’ the hic there ever was. An’ before I did I heard their screams from inside its hull.”
“Screams?”
“Agonised screams. As if their souls had been touched by the devils themselves. An’ that ain’t all…”
“It isn’t?”
“Oh, no. I swear to ye, the very instant they rolled that monster outta dry dock an’ into the waters, the ocean boiled. Stay away from ’er, I tell ya. Stay away!”
Boiled, eh? Kali thought. That was certainly enough to get a girl’s attention.
She nodded, flipped the seadog a coin, and began to move with renewed determination towards her destination. But she had not got far before her progress was rudely interrupted.
Her gaze fixed on the looming wall of the ship, she did not notice the sudden kerfuffle in the crowd about her, and the first thing she knew of its cause – something moving at speed out of a side alley – was when that same something barrelled into her so hard she was winded and knocked off her feet. As she thudded unceremoniously onto her backside, Kali cursed her assailant for not even having the good grace to apologise for the collision. Then she realised there was good reason for the omission.
Three Eyes of the Lord darted out of the alley, spinning about while they re-orientated, and then tore through the air after the figure, which was now half way across the street.
Kali double-taked on the spheres and the fleeing figure. The first thing she noticed was the Eyes of the Lord’s prey wasn’t so much running as rolling along, the reason for this being that he appeared to have no legs. Instead, he was perched on a small, wheeled platform which he was thrusting along with sweeps of thick and powerfully muscled arms. Kali wondered if he was perhaps a veteran of the Vos-Pontaine war and, like so many, had lost his limbs in one of its horrifying battles. He didn’t look like one, though, when, for a fleeting second, she caught a glimpse of a solid, gnarled face almost wholly obscured by a thick beard which had, of all things, a number of small, tin bells woven into it.
Her first instinct was to spring upward and help him, but before she could she realised she had problems of her own. Unnoticed until now, her tumble had dislodged her cap from her head and, with it lying a few feet away, her true appearance was revealed to all.
One of the three spheres stopped dead in its pursuit of its prey, backtracked a few feet, and then darted towards her until it hovered directly in front of her face, staring her, as it were, in the eyes. Kali realised she had only a few seconds before the information it was gathering was processed by the Overseers back at Scholten Cathedral, and then she would have been tracked by the Faith. She leapt up and rid herself of the problem with the only thing that came to hand. Plucking a large fish from where it lay, dull-eyed, on an adjacent stall, Kali held it tightly by the tail, swung it round in an arc and batted the Eye of the Lord hard enough to send it careering through the air. As bits of fish splattered the crowd, the sphere ricocheted off one wall and then another and yet a third before it plummeted, smoking and sparking, through the cloth awning of a stall further up the street, bringing the whole lot down around it.
“Fore!” Kali shouted.
Her unique solution to the problem couldn’t help but attract the attention of the other two spheres, and also, for a second, the figure on the wheeled platform, who paused and regarded her curiously. There was no time for introductions, however, as one of the two remaining spheres veered off towards Kali while its partner resumed its pursuit of its original prey.
Kali cursed – an ancient Drakengrattian powerword that made even the hardened inhabitants of Gransk gasp and step back in shock – reflecting how her plan to clandestinely go about her business had so rapidly turned to shit.
The Eye of the Lord now in hot pursuit, Kali fled into a side alley running parallel to that taken by the bearded stranger, and as the alley jinked to the right, his must have jinked to the left, because the pair found themselves meeting again, though heading swiftly in opposite directions. A few seconds later, when Kali jinked once more, they were again heading directly towards each other. They nodded as they passed. By the time they encountered each other for a third time, Kali had had enough, but thankfully another plan had popped into mind.
While she considered it a little unnecessary to shout “duck!” to her fellow escapee, she did so anyway, and then ran right at him, seemingly playing chicken. At the very last instant before their two forms collided, she flung herself to the side, bouncing off the alley wall with an oof! before continuing her flight. As she’d hoped, the pursuing Eyes of the Lord were not so nimble in their reactions and the two spheres impacted with each other directly above the bearded stranger’s platform, knocking each other askew, taking a few seconds to regain their equilibrium. It was enough time for both parties to lose them in the backstreet maze. The last thing Kali saw of the maybe veteran was his platform throwing up dust as it di
sappeared into yet another alley, and then she, too, veered left, right, right, left and left again in what she hoped was a dizzying enough series of manoeuvres to ride herself of her sphere for good.
Breathless now, Kali turned at last into a long, featureless alley – and stopped dead in her tracks.
One of the Eyes of the Lord hovered at the other end, blocking her escape route. Kali turned and found the second hovering where she had come in. She span on the spot, studying the alley for an alternative means of escape but seeing none, and even if she took to the rooftops – a favourite ploy guaranteed to confound any normal pursuer – it would do little to help her against the omnipresent spheres.
Both Eyes of the Lord began to move towards her, closing the gap between them, but just as they drew near a staggering, singing figure suddenly emerged from a plain and hard to spot doorway just a few feet away. Though she would clearly be observed going in, it would have to do for now, and Kali grabbed at the door before it closed, spinning herself inside.
Fug and the smell of her favourite thing greeted her, because on the other side of the door was a bar. The fact that it had been unsigned hinted that it was likely frequented only by those who knew it was there, clearly the kind of back street watering hole visited by sailors who traded in exotic and illicit goods. Consequently, the face of every customer within snapped towards Kali with expressions ranging from curiosity to startled guilt to snarling, outright belligerence, and more than one hand dropped to a blade sheath concealed under clothing. Even a game of arrows taking place in the far corner stopped – literally, with the tiny projectile frozen in mid air – the ship’s first mage whose throw it had been pausing time to weigh up the unexpected arrival.
Kali had no time to weigh up anything, knowing the spheres were only one or two seconds behind her, and she darted for a booth in the most shadowed area of the bar, vanishing into the dark. This action alone seemed to mollify the regulars – if the girl was hiding, and in this town she could only be hiding from the law, then she was all right by them – and they turned back to their business.
“This booth is occupied,” a voice growled in the darkness beside her. “Fark off.”
Kali jumped. The ill-mannered request had come from right next to her. But, dark as it was, the booth was clearly empty. Kali shook her head. Must have been a trick of the acoustics in the place.
Something prodded her sharply in her ribs, near her breast, prompting an indignant “Ow!”
“Go on, ar said. Fark off.”
“What the hells?”
Another prod.
“Are ya deaf, smoothskin? Or is yer just plain stupid?”
“Now wait one pitsing min – ” Kali began. She turned with the intention of snapping off whatever it was doing the prodding but at that moment the door to the bar was booted wide open and sunlight flooded in. The regulars, who were used to the door never being open for longer than it took someone to duck quickly and furtively inside, squinted and shielded their eyes against the brightness.
Silhouetted shapes appeared in the light. Two spherical shapes that floated slowly inside, followed by two armoured human shapes, Swords by the look of them. The Eyes of the Lord had brought reinforcements.
“Aw, me mother’s bollocks, now ya’ve gone and done it,” the voice next to Kali cursed. “Come on, then, smoothskin, ya’d better get under here.”
Kali felt something thrown over her, the weight and texture of one of Merrit Moon’s horse blankets. She became immediately aware of two things: that the blanket stank worse than possibly anything else she’d smelled in her life, and that its stink originated with the hunched figure she was sharing it with. He was so bad he seemed to have to transfer his excess stink through some form of osmosis. What Kali didn’t expect, therefore, was his next comment.
“Great gods, smoothskin, ya stink like a mool’s arse after a bad case o’ the trots.”
“I stink?” Kali gasped. But then realised the creev had likely left her with a body odour problem of her own.
“Keep ya bloody voice down, or ya might bring more attention than me cloak can stand.”
“Cloak?” Kali blurted. “You plan to hide from the patrol under a pitsing cloak?”
“It fooled you, didn’t it?”
“It was dark, then!”
“Trust me, smoothskin.”
“Oh, sure. Better idea. I’ll go stand in that corner with a lampshade on my head!”
The figure sighed. “For a small ’un ya’ve got quite the gob on ya. Do me a favour and shut it for a second, eh?”
“You are asking for –” Kali began, but stopped as the spheres and Swords, so far having concentrated their activity on the patrons near the bar, turned their attention to the booths. Kali froze as the Eyes of the Lord floated before her, and could almost feel the Overseers in Scholten peering at her intently.
“You, Allantian,” one of the Swords barked. “We’re looking for two fugitives – a girl and a short, thick-set man.” He hesitated. “On a trolley.”
Allantian? Kali thought. Not only did she – and, as far as she could tell, the Great Pongo – not look remotely Allantian, but the numbers were wrong. The Sword also paid no heed to the fact that the two of them were hiding under a blanket, which if she’d been him she might have found just a tad suspicious. She supposed you got what you paid for.
“Seen no one,” the figure next to her said. “Just enjoyin’ a drink.”
The soldier’s eyes narrowed, as if suspecting something but unable to put a finger on what.
“Your trade?” he demanded. “What business have you in Gransk?”
“I grease knobs. Luggleknobs.”
“What?”
“They assign ya to a docks an’ ya don’t know what luggleknobs are?”
“Well, no…”
“Then ar suggest ya watch your footing around town, greenhorn. Now why don’t ya leave an old lag to his drink, eh?”
The soldier hesitated, but the bluff – if that’s what it was – seemed to work, and he turned away from them with a grunt.
Kali gave it a moment before she spoke.
“What are luggleknobs?”
“Haven’t a clue.”
“Thought so. What just happened? Why did he think we were an Allantian?”
“Ah, that. Cloak o’ Many Contours. Handy bit o’ kit.”
Kali felt a stirring of excitement, despite the stench. “This is an artefact?”
“Artefact?” the stranger repeated. “No, just me old cloak.”
“And what does this cloak do?”
“Fools the eyes, mainly. You thought this booth was empty when you sat here, right?”
“Right. But the Sword clearly didn’t.”
“That’s why it’s called a cloak o’ many contours. It adapts to what it’s covering. You were a bit too bulky ta simply hide.”
“Bulky?”
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, smoothskin. Yer can’t help yer size.”
“Are you talking about glamour?”
“Aye. Portable glamour.”
“Then it is an artefact!”
“I told yer –”
“It’s just your cloak,” Kali finished. She sighed, getting nowhere. She looked at the bar, saw the Swords and the spheres were leaving, and then pulled the cloak off their heads, sucking in fresh air. She, too, made to leave.
“An’ where is it yer think you’re goin’?”
“They’ve gone so I’m going. I wish I could say it’s been a pleasure.”
A hand clamped about her forearm, solid as iron, and Kali turned to look at her companion for the first time. Wreathed once more in shadow, his face was gnarled and grizzled, hairy and a little pug-like, and comprehensively covered in scars. Even the scars had scars. None of these features were how Kali recognised him. It was the bells in the beard that were the giveaway.
“You.”
“Aye, me.”
“Okay, that’s it. I’m definitely off.”
“Ar wouldn’t. The Swords’ll be on full alert after our little runaround. Probably take ’em til nightfall to calm down. Whatever business ya have in Gransk’ll have to wait.”
Kali slumped back in her seat, supposing he was right.
“Okay,” she acceded. “So what do you suggest we do for the next few hours?”
A guffaw. “What else do ya do in a bar, smoothskin? We DRINK!”
He shouted to the bartender and, a second later, two pitchers of frothing ale were slammed down on the table. They were followed in rapid succession by two more. And two more. And two more. Kali matched her companion drink for drink, wetting her whistle with the local brew – clanger – then suggesting they moved on to something stronger. She ordered the guest beer – wobblehead – and not pitchers this time but the full barrel. The bartender eyed her suspiciously as he rolled it over, but Kali simply wiped her mouth, burped and tossed him a pouch of full bronze. The weight of it erased all worries from his face.
Kali drank and thought about her companion’s odd appearance, the artefact that was ‘just’ an old cloak, the way he had of speaking. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
“Depends on what ya mean by ‘here’. I haven’t fallen from that thing that’s appeared in the sky, if that’s what yer suggestin’.”
“I’m not. I’ve a lot of theories about what’s up there but one of them isn’t that it’s filled with rude little men.”
“Bugger off.”
Kali thought carefully about what she said next, but was pretty certain of her suspicions before she spoke. “What happened to your legs?”
“That’s somethin’ of a personal question, don’t ya think? Why don’t you tell me why yer tits are so small?”
“Hey! I know they’re small, all right? So, come on, answer the question – were they blown off? Amputated? Eaten by a ravenous shnarl? Or did they just rot away holding all that beer?”
“Mind yer own business.”
Without warning, Kali pulled away the remainder of the cloak covering her companion. As she’d suspected, the trolley on which he’d ridden had been discarded under the table and he was sitting there with a pair of legs that were fully formed – small, but fully formed.