On the Matter of the Red Hand

by JM Guillen

  “Tainted night.” I swore softly, mostly so I could hear myself and not feel quite so alone. I stepped up to the first closet, trying the knob. It turned easily, and I swung it open, my stave ready.

  Another corpse.

  I retched as the rancid, spicy smell pummeled me in the face.

  This wasn’t like the other one. No, this woman was hung in the closet, a meat-hook through the back of her neck. She was naked, and her skin was discolored, a horrifying red and purple. There were no eyes in her sockets, and it looked as if there were dozens of small cuts covering her breasts. Her stomach was distended, swollen to unnatural size. Her mouth dripped with a black-red substance that I dare not name. It looked like tar, but seemed to eat through the flesh where it touched.

  My heart was hammering in my chest. I opened a second door. Hanging inside was a young man. My head lazily swam with serum dreams:

  The blight cooks inside the floating ones. They aren’t sleeping.

  I stepped away, trying to get a good clean breath. I realized I was trembling, and the room seemed like it might spin. I leaned my hand against the wall, right next to where a black plague mask hung on an old iron nail. I considered taking it; maybe it would make the smell bearable. In the end, however, I couldn’t risk the mask. I needed as much of my vision as possible. The last two closets didn’t have any bodies hanging in them, but they did have the chain and hooks.

  “Let’s move on, good bird.” I crept away from the brazier, my stave still held before me. There was still the wooden door, the one I had seen when walking down the passage. It swung inward and was only the smallest bit ajar. Carefully, I pressed my stave against the door, pushing it slowly open. My shadow, silhouetted by the light from the brazier, stretched into the darkened room.

  I heard something, like a soft whispering, echoing from somewhere in the darkness. As I peered within, I saw something move.

  Quickly I stepped aside, allowing the light from the brazier to spill into the room. It seemed mostly empty. There was some wan light spilling in from somewhere above, but most of the room was cloaked in shadows.

  “Hello?” My voice was little more than a rough whisper. The muttering sound grew louder but was still impossible to understand. I reached into my satchel and pulled out the candle and sulfur matches. After fumbling for a moment, I got the candle lit.

  “I am a judicar, here on official business!” I walked into the small chamber, stave before me and candle held behind, so I wouldn’t ruin my chances of seeing anything.

  “Just tell the whole city you’re here.” I could almost hear the Spider, mocking me for my diligence to the Codex. I cleared my throat, and called out again

  “Make yourself known.”

  Still there was only that strange whispering sound. I took a step and then another. The darkness fell around me like thick velvet. No matter how I looked around, I saw no one.

  I walked deeper into the room. The whisperings came again, surprising me. I turned, trying to cast light in its direction. Was that movement?

  “Thom.” Scoundrel’s voice seemed low, subdued.

  “Is someone here?” I stepped toward the sound, intently peering into the darkness.

  The further I got, the louder the whispering became. It wasn’t particularly sensible at first, but eventually I made out a sentence.

  “Tell the judicar. Tell, tell, tell…”

  “Hello?” I crept toward the sound. That’s when I saw her.

  Rebeka Ortiz.

  The sister of the Red Marquis.

  3

  Oh, tainted night. My heart was thundering in my chest. Without even consciously considering it, I prepared myself for some new horror, for her to be mutilated or maimed.

  She was tied to a long metal table, secured at the arms and ankles with thick leather straps. Her hands were over her head, and she was trying to turn her head toward me but couldn’t quite. There was another strap around her head, and she couldn’t turn it. Her voice was a rambling whisper.

  “Tell the judicar. Tell him—”

  “Rebeka.” I stepped up next to her. “My name is Thom.” I looked around the room. No one else was here. When I turned my gaze back to her, I had to steel myself.

  She was the woman I remembered, but then again, she was not.

  Rebeka’s normally shining hair was flat and lifeless, full of tangles. She looked wan, as if she hadn’t been fed. When she looked at me, her eyes seemed far away. Those eyes struck me. I remembered the woman, walking through the Warrens or getting deliveries at the Havens. She was smiles and sunshine. The woman I saw now was dead behind the eyes.

  “He knows you are here.” Her words seemed rambling, rushed together. Her voice was soft. “He cut Rebeka. Cut her arms.”

  I glanced over at her arms, secured tightly. Moving the candle, I could see that she was bleeding.

  ‘Cut’ wasn’t exactly the word for what had been done to Rebeka.

  Spiraling from her right wrist were small, meticulous slices. She was still bleeding. Her skin had to have been sliced with a shaving razor, they were so cleverly cut. It looked as if she had writing on her body, and the cuts were strange letters that I did not know. Someone had rubbed something dark into the cuts after he had made them, likely a mixture of ashes and night ocher.

  She would have the markings for the rest of her life.

  I couldn’t contemplate the man who had done this just now. Rebeka’s safety was what mattered.

  “Come on, Rebeka.” I undid the straps around her head and wrists. They were easy enough, held in place by brass buckles. When I undid her arms, she stretched them, trying to move.

  “Day and night and day and night, Rebeka was tied here.” Her voice was sing-song, like a child. “He is done now. Thom is late.”

  “Thom is here now.” I smiled at her. “Let me get you undone, and we’ll get you away. Would you like that?”

  Of course she would. I was just talking while I was unbuckling.

  “Rebeka wants to see the sun again.” Her voice was dreamy, as if she were far away. “It won’t end. Not for Rebeka.”

  “It will end. We’ll get you out, and you’ll be free. Be safe.” I undid the final strap. “Can you walk?”

  It was fortunate that she could. I didn’t really want to carry her, as we had far to go. She was wobbly and barefoot, but stable enough. She pulled her shirt down over herself. She had nothing but shortclothes on below the waist.

  “Follow me. Tell me if you see anything.”

  “Rebeka has seen too much. It was the drops.” Her voice was sad. “Rebeka may never see anything again.”

  I held the candle high, and led her from the room. Scoundrel shifted on my shoulder as we approached the door.

  “Bad, Thom.”

  I glanced up at her, but didn’t say anything.

  “Bad man. Bad.” Her words were a dire croak.

  I looked behind us, to see if I could see anyone else in the room with us. All I saw was Rebeka.

  “Are you well, Rebeka?”

  She started to nod, but then her eyes went wide. She stared out of the room and into the hallway, as if held in a predator’s gaze. She made a tiny, mewling noise of terror.

  When I looked up, he spoke. His voice was like razored darkness, a ruin of horror and night.

  “Good afternoon, Thom.”

  The Plague Masked Man

  Sundering, Third Bell, Eventide

  For a long moment, I froze, my breath like ice in my body. Then, I slowly looked toward him.

  I couldn’t say which stunned me more, the man’s words, his sudden appearance, or his dramatic garb. He was wearing the plague doctor’s mask, the one that had been hanging by the closets. It gave him a long, hawk-like nose, with two large eye holes covered in silvered glass. He stood in front of the still-burning brazier and pot wearing only black with dark shadows rippling around him from the flame. His hands were hidden within his cloak.

  He was a horror, clad in night. In that mom
ent, I would have traded much to have the Spider by my side. Lost gods, even one of Altheus’ inquisitors would be well met.

  Even Lilah.

  I brought my stave ‘round in front of me, taking stanza three again. It was the best stance for such tight quarters. From the corner of my eye, I saw Scoundrel take a hop behind me, getting ready.

  “Good afternoon,” I replied. I felt foolish, but what did one say? This man clearly knew me, even if I was square in the center of a nightmare. Behind me, Rebeka whimpered.

  “I’m so pleased you came.” His voice was deep and rumbling, although slightly muted by the mask. “You wouldn’t believe how far I’ve gone to arrange our meeting.”

  Did I know him? His voice was altered by the mask, but it seemed like someone I had heard before…

  “Who are you, sir?” I did not relax my guard. “You should know that this building contains evidence of horrific activities. I am certain that when my companions arrive, we will discover even more—”

  The man chuckled. It was a wild, meandering chuckle. It was the laugh of a man long mad.

  “You have no companions coming, Thom. Not yet, anyway.” I could hear his breathing, rasping through the mask. “What did you say to your smart little bird?” He mimicked my voice: “Four or five judicars would make this safer. The stairs could fall in, and no one would find our corpses.”

  Rebeka was still muttering behind me. “Knows. He knows everything. It’s all the formula. Vast and great.”

  “I don’t need other judicars.” I gripped my stave. “I’d wager I can detain you myself.”

  “Yet you’d rather have Wil by your side, I’d wager. Wil Sommers, your best friend. He is shorter than you, with flaxen hair. You play draughts with him at the Masque and Moon every second day or so.”

  Each word raised my hackles higher. Who would know so much about me? More ominously, why?

  “It’s the formula, Thom. Just like the lady says.” It was as if he was answering questions that I hadn’t asked. “You are a vital reagent. It’s important for me to have an understanding of your nature.”

  “You’ll submit, or I’ll give you an understanding of my stave.” I took a step closer.

  “Oh, Thom. We know you don’t comprehend—not yet anyway. Things will become clear, however.”

  “I can’t let you leave until I have some answers, sir.” I stood straighter, trying to make my voice ring with authority. It was difficult, with all the dust in the air. “You are hereby detained, by my authority as the hand of the law, within the jurisdiction of the city of—”

  “Thom,” he interrupted, “that’s meaningless now. I wouldn’t be speaking with you if I didn’t already know how the board lays.” His voice held an arrogant smile within it that I did not like.

  “I am authorized to use lethal force, sir.” I made my words as cutting as I could. I stepped forward, getting ready to strike if I needed to. “Place your hands where I can see them.” He slowly pulled his hands from beneath the cloak. His right one was in a fist.

  “You will regret this, Thom Havenkin. You will regret that you didn’t ask more questions when you had the chance.”

  “We’ll have plenty of—”

  Things happened quickly then.

  With little more than a flick of his wrist, he threw something into the hot cauldron. I saw a flash of glass and heard it break before thick, grey-green smoke exploded from the glowing cauldron. It seemed impossible that there should be so much smoke from such a small phial. It was hot as well. The initial burst seared my skin, and in shock, I gulped in a large lungful of the smoke.

  As I said, my lungs aren’t my strongest point, haven’t been since the Haven’s fire. The moment I gasped in the smoke, I was thrown into a violent coughing spasm. It was so strong that I couldn’t stand, and I went down on one knee, gasping for breath.

  Which Scoundrel took for her signal. In stanza three, her cue is typically me striking and then ducking out of the way.

  I watched as she darted at him, all ebony feathers and gaffs shining silver in the brazier’s light. As always, she went straight for his face. He grunted, swiping at her and missing. The man’s eyes were protected by the mask, however, so she couldn’t find any purchase where her small, wicked blades would do any harm. As smoke billowed and filled the room, he reached up and caught her by the wing as she clawed and pecked at his face.

  Then, I heard her squawk but saw her no more.

  “Scoun—!” Another fit of coughing overwhelmed me. The smoke was making me feel lightheaded. It was nothing like simple wood smoke. I realized that there was something in it, something that made me feel off, as if I could slip from my body.

  “Thom needs to run.” Rebeka was behind me. “He needs to get the girl away.”

  “Thom is trying.” I coughed again before pulling my sleeve over my face. I took a breath and plunged through the smoke, unable to see more than a foot in front of my face.

  It was a wicked, clinging smoke. It coated my mouth and the insides of my nose. I wondered with idle horror what the long-term effects might be.

  “Scoundrel!” My voice was little more than a croak. I blindly pushed forward, squinting. I knew that the man could be hiding somewhere in the darkness with a cudgel for the back of my head, but I didn’t think he was.

  Still, I kept my stave at the ready.

  “Where’s my smart bird?” I was fighting another coughing spasm. I kept clearing my throat, pulling Rebeka behind me as we pushed through the smoke. Finally, when I had made it back down near the small alchemy room, I heard her.

  “Thom?” She was struggling when I found her. She hopped up and tried to open her wings. One of them wasn’t moving properly, however, and she fell back to one side.

  “Good girl. Good, pretty girl,” she cawed.

  I bent, blinking my eyes against the smoke. I couldn’t tell if the wing was broken, but at least there was no bone protruding from it. That was good, but still, she couldn’t seem to open it properly.

  My girl needed the Rookery.

  “Yes.” My voice was husky from the smoke. The wetness in my eyes was certainly from the smoke as well. “You are my good girl.” I lifted her gently and settled her on my shoulder. She began grooming my hair.

  “Good, smart bird.”

  I took Rebeka by the hand, and we set out for the stairwell, pushing our way through smoke and darkness.

  “We’re almost out, Rebeka,” I looked at her as I pulled her along. “You’ve had a great many people quite worried.”

  “Too late though.” Her sing-song voice was soft. “I’ve already seen, Judicar—” She stopped in mid-sentence, looking ahead of me, her eyes wide.

  I spun, holding my stave top the ready. It was still dark, but I could see a shape slipping among the shadows…

  Then, the plague-masked man loomed from the darkness and struck me in the face with a masonry block.

  2

  “Arrgh!” I bellowed heroically as my face exploded into bursts of bright pain and crimson blood. I stumbled backward, swinging my stave wildly. My satchel fell from my shoulder to the ground.

  Apparently, my guesses about the man’s motivations had been incorrect.

  “Do stay, Thom.” The voice leered at me from behind the mask as he stepped back into the shadows. “I’d hate to consider that you found my hospitality lacking.”

  “Thom!” Scoundrel squawked as I stumbled backward. I cupped my arms around her protectively, afraid for a moment that I might fall.

  Dizzy.

  It was more than the strike to the face; it was even more than the irritation in my lungs. There was something about the smoke that I didn’t understand, something alchemical perhaps. I felt disconnected, drifting, as if I were watching from somewhere beyond my body.

  As if I were watching something where the outcome was already known.

  I went down to a knee, setting my good girl down as I looked up into the smoky darkness. I scooped up my satchel, looking around w
ildly.

  It seemed as if the man was gone, but I did not trust that to be true. I held my stave in front of myself as I stood.

  “Rebeka, stay behind me.” My voice was tight but clear as I stepped forward, my eyes peering into the shadows. I was fortunate the man hadn’t broken my nose. Slowly, we stepped forward, both ladies hobbling behind me as I frantically peered about.

  Nothing.

  We edged past the brazier on the floor, glancing toward the macabre closets as we passed. The corpses hung silently, looking on with eyeless faces.

  “This has already happened, Thom.” The man’s voice had an odd echo too it, almost melancholy. “I wish you would accept what must be. I wish we could handle this like men.”

  “I hope you accept how this is about to be handled.” I coughed as I stepped forward, listening. Was he hidden in the small alchemy chamber?

  Maybe. I slipped forward, glancing behind myself to make certain Rebeka was safe.

  That was when I saw him.

  Behind? I spun, bringing my stave to the fore. How had he possibly—?

  “Now, blackbird.” He chuckled as he wrapped his arm around Rebeka’s waist, and brought a small dagger to her throat. “Let’s be cautious. We have much we need to discuss, you and I.”

  “Judicar?” Rebeka’s voice was filled with trembling horror. I stepped toward her, my eyes hard.

  “There’s nothing more to discuss.” I stood straight. “You are detained. Submit or—”

  “So certain.” There was mad, wild laughter capering around the edge of his words. “You truly believe—”

  Then, Scoundrel did as Scoundrel does.

  I hadn’t known when my satchel fell, but apparently it had flopped open, scattering some of my things. Scoundrel, ever true to her nature, had opted to seize upon the thing that caught her attention first.

  She shook Harys’ rattle, gleefully interrupting us with its clacky, clattering sound. Just as the plague-masked man ominously bellowed pseudo-prophecy, my bird was rattling a loud and annoying child’s toy.