by Duncan Pile
“He was like a father to me,” Fortunate continued gravely. “He taught me how to speak common, but he couldn’t pronounce my name so he gave me a new one. He said it was because I was fortunate to be alive. He used to tease me, saying I was fortunate to do this or that, but in a nice way. I liked it. I don’t even remember my real name now.
“It all changed about three years ago. Symeon always let travellers camp in the clearing and drink from the stream. One day, a man came who said he was a magician. He was tall and thin with dark eyes, and he wore a cloak the colour of blood. Symeon was sick at the time, and the magician said he could heal him, so they went inside the hut. They were in there for hours. I don’t know what happened but when Symeon came out again he was different. It was like he’d died on the inside but carried on walking around.
“The traveller left us, and that’s when I saw the rock.” Fortunate shuddered and looked Gaspi in the eye. “It changed him. Every day he became more cruel. He started shouting at me over the smallest things, and then he started beating me. He stopped washing, he stopped growing our food. He carried on hunting for a while, but only until the next traveller came. Symeon invited him to camp in the clearing, and when it was dark, the stone started glowing and the man fell asleep. Symeon dragged him inside the hut. I was still too small to help, but he made me watch. I didn’t understand why the man didn’t wake up. Even when Symeon cut into his chest and took out his heart, the man didn’t make a sound. Symeon put the stone in the man’s chest, and it glowed so bright it hurt my eyes. When the light went out, Symeon took the stone out.”
Fortunate hesitated and looked at Gaspi uncertainly before continuing. “He cut up the man’s body and ate him. It took weeks. When the meat ran out he went hunting again, but only until the next traveller arrived.”
“He ate him?” Gaspi asked, horrified.
“Yes,” Fortunate responded, barely above a whisper. “And then the next one, and the one after that.”
“Sheesh! But what about you?” Gaspi asked, and instantly regretted it.
The boy’s head snapped up. “I know what you’re thinking! You think I ate it too. Well I did! He made me, but I emptied my stomach every time!” Fortunate’s eyes glowed in angry defiance.
“I’m sorry, that was insensitive,” Gaspi said. “I just meant, well never mind what I meant. Sorry Fortunate.”
“Symeon may have stopped growing vegetables but I didn’t,” the boy sniffed, his anger spent. “I kept them hidden from him, growing in secret places he’d never check. He found one of my onion patches once, but he thought they’d grown wild.” They sat in silence for long moments while Gaspi tried to think of anything he could say that didn’t sound trite. “I’m sorry for being angry,” Fortunate said at last, breaking the silence.
“Please don’t apologise,” Gaspi said. “I’m just sorry any of this happened to you.”
“Me too,” Fortunate responded glumly. There really didn’t seem to be anything else to say. “I just wanted you to know, Symeon wasn’t always bad. It was the stone that did it to him. I wanted you to understand before I go.”
“I understand,” Gaspi replied, wondering once again they were up against. Whatever the Bloodstone’s purpose, and wherever it came from, it was a source of great evil. He could only hope Hephistole would make good headway with his research back in Helioport.
Hephistole transported out shortly after that, taking Bret and Fortunate with him. It was difficult saying goodbye to him after such a brief reunion, but mostly Gaspi was just happy there was no bad blood between them. Now they were all equally aware of what was going on – the questors knew about the Darkman, and Hephistole knew about the being Gaspi was now thinking of as the Dark God. Hephistole had left him with the promise that he would do some research into Bloodstones, and if he came up with anything they simply had to know, he’d transport to where they were and let them know about it.
After Hephistole had gone, he tried to approach Emmy once again to break the ice, but she was standoffish, and when he pushed the issue, she told him she didn’t want to talk and walked away. Gaspi went to bed that night with a complex clash of warring emotions. He was relieved to have made peace with Hephistole, frustrated by Emmy’s behaviour, disturbed by thoughts of the Dark God, and awed by the figurine of the chimera. It was all a bit too much for one head to contain at once, and when he finally succumbed to tiredness, he drifted off into restless, uneasy sleep.
Sixteen
After saving the Wrench’s life, Jonn was assigned daily guard duty at the Rats’ headquarters. At first, he was pleased to be one step closer to finding Adela, but as the days passed by, frustration started to build once more. There was a clear hierarchy in Belash’s organisation, and although he was off the bottom rung of that ladder, he certainly wasn’t much higher than the second and there was no obvious way to progress.
The crime lord lived in an isolated suite of apartments within the warehouse. Rumour had it that he kept his girls in there, so that was exactly where Jonn wanted to be, but there was only one corridor in or out of it, and it was patrolled day and night by Belash’s elite guards. Hand-picked by the crime lord himself, that particular group of guards was devoted and deadly. They were big, tough men, remorseless killers to the last one, men Jonn would avoid in a fight if at all possible. He might be able to hold his own one-on-one, but if he had to take on more than one at once that would be the end of him. No, the only way he was going to get what he wanted was to get assigned to that particular group of guards, and for that to happen, he was going to have to get very creative or very lucky.
Along with guard duty, Jonn was often assigned one-off tasks by the Wrench – deliveries around the city, making payments for shipments of goods at the docks, and once he accompanied the Wrench on a debt-collecting mission as his personal bodyguard. Jonn was pleased the henchman had taken to him in the way he had, but the last thing he wanted was for Belash to see him as the Wrench’s personal guard. He needed the crime lord to use him for his own purposes.
On that particular day, Jonn was worried about a matter of much more immediate concern; his disguise needed renewing. He’d noticed about a week previously that the pearly white pebble that Hephistole had enchanted to hold the disguise in place had started to lose its potency. Every day it had grown darker, and that morning he had woken up to discover it was the colour of wet slate. Jonn knew exactly what that meant – when it turned black, he had a few hours at most to get to Hephistole before the disguise dropped altogether. That might sound like plenty of time, but if he was stuck on guard duty he wouldn’t be able to leave his post without attracting attention, and doing so would invite all kinds of questions. They might even stop him from going.
Jonn checked the pebble every morning, afternoon and night with mounting anxiety. Slate grey wasn’t all that far from pitch black! If he didn’t get a chance to slip away in the next couple of days, there was every chance his disguise would fail him when surrounded by Belash’s henchmen. If that happened, he was under no illusion that he’d escape with his life.
…
Two days later, Jonn awoke, checked his pebble and panicked. Picking it up, he rushed to the window to examine it in the light. He held it against the blank-painted windowsill and let out a sigh of relief. Its colour had darkened to a deep shade of grey that shimmered ever so slightly in the light, but it was still a fraction lighter than the pitch black paint. Breathing slowly to calm himself, Jonn set about washing and dressing. He didn’t take long about it, and was quickly ready to go and find out what duty he’d been assigned. Come what may, he had to find a way to escape from headquarters. He strode over to the door, opened it and stepped out into the corridor. He turned left and was heading towards the muster point when he saw Sali coming in the other direction. He smiled at the boy, but Sali looked at him in alarm and sped off in the direction he’d come from. Jonn stopped, confused. Why had Sali reacted like that? It was if he didn’t recognise him.
Icy
panic shot up Jonn’s spine as realisation dawned. The pebble! He’d left it on the windowsill. He spun around and rushed back down the corridor, his mind whirring at impossible speed. Sali hadn’t seen him come out of his room, so there was no obvious connection to him. No-one else had seen him either, so if he could just go in and get the pebble, he’d be okay. No, wait, he’d have to change his clothes too. If he didn’t, Sali would see him dressed in the same clothes he’d just seen a stranger wearing. Jonn slipped back into his room and quickly closed the door behind him. Cold beads of sweat formed on his forehead as he rushed around, getting into a different set of clothes. He shoved the shirt he’d been wearing to the bottom of the pile and pulled on his second set of boots, kicking the first under his bed. If he took too long he’d be late for muster, and that would arouse suspicion too. Lastly, he grabbed the pebble and was about to shove it into one of his pockets when he stopped dead. It was black.
Jonn felt his head swim with the unreality of it all. This couldn’t be happening! With a swiftly beating heart, he stepped over to the window and held it against the sill. There was no question about it. It was the same colour as the paint – pitch black.
Just then a loud knock sounded at his door.
…
Jonn almost dropped the pebble. Was this it? Was it time to fight? If it was, he’d take as many of them with him as possible! But then he remembered. The pebble had only just turned black, which meant he still had a few hours to get out of there. The game may not be up just yet!
“Tarek? Open up,” the Wrench’s voice called from the other side.
Jonn took a last look around the room, looking for anything that might give him away, but everything was in order. He stepped up to the door, wondering fearfully if the enchantment still held. Maybe when the stone went black the enchantment simply dropped altogether. There was no time to check, and no way of doing so even if he had that time. Using every last ounce of his willpower, he schooled his face to stillness, turned the handle and pulled the door open. The Wrench was standing there, flanked by two guardsmen and trailed by Sali.
“Did you see anyone come through here?” the Wrench asked, glancing left and right and then back at Jonn again.
Jonn tried to hide his relief. The disguise was still in place. “No, I’m just stepping out myself.”
“Aren’t you running a bit late?” the Wrench asked, fixing him with a piercing gaze.
“It’s closer than I’d like,” Jonn answered honestly.
The Wrench eyed him keenly for another moment. “Just come with me then,” he said. “I’m going there next.” Jonn stepped out into the corridor and closed his door.
“What did he look like Sali?” the Wrench asked.
“I don’t know,” Sali responded in a lilting accent. It was the first time Jonn had ever heard him speak. “He was big, with brown hair. He smiled at me.” Jonn felt another wash of relief. He wasn’t all that big in reality, but everyone would look big to a boy Sali’s age.
“He smiled at you?” the Wrench asked.
“Yes, like he knew me from somewhere.”
“But you didn’t know him?”
“I have never seen him before. I promise!”
“Okay Sali,” the Wrench said, patting him on the head. He turned to the two guards. “Steffan, York, find out what this man was wearing from Sali and conduct a thorough search of the complex. Tarek come with me to muster.”
Jonn accompanied the Wrench along the now familiar twists and turns of the maze of corridors. He’d been incredibly lucky. He’d been caught out of disguise, but only by a boy who couldn’t remember much about the person he saw. The enchanted pebble had finally turned black, but at that moment Jonn was still in disguise. If only his luck continued, he’d find a way out of headquarters in the next few hours and have a chance to seek out Hephistole.
When they arrived at muster, Jonn joined the line of men and turned to face the Wrench, who was assigning tasks for the day.
“Borris, Alfonso,” he said, addressing two men to Jonn’s right. “You’re on debt collection. Here is your list of debtors. If old Sam tries to postpone again, break his fingers.”
“Yes boss,” Borris said, taking the list from the Wrench’s outstretched hand.
“Zelak,” he said, addressing a lean-faced, skinny man with exaggerated eyebrows and a dark, pointy beard. “There are too many immigrants settling near headquarters. I want to know where they’re coming from. Start at the docks. I want to be sure Jack isn’t operating a side-line under my nose.” If Jack wasn’t such an overbearing upstart, Jonn might have felt sorry for him, but as it was he probably deserved what he had coming to him. Jonn had worked in the docks for a month, and in that time it had become clear that Jack was sneaking immigrants through the docks and setting himself up as some sort of landlord. Rumour had it he kept them in run down slums and made them pay dearly for the privilege of being there.
“Gordo,” the Wrench said, addressing a pouch-faced fat man at the end of the row. “Gordo?” he added when the large man didn’t respond. Jonn glanced over and saw that Gordo was white as a sheet. Large droplets of sweat were beading all over his face. Gordo clutched at his chest, white cloth clenched tightly in his pudgy fingers. “Catch him,” the Wrench said as the fat man started to fall. The two men on either side of him caught his arms and lowered him to the ground. “Fetch Kenril!” the Wrench barked at the man nearest him, who jumped and sprinted from the room.
Minutes later the man returned, trailed by a man in dark robes and by Belash himself. Jonn stiffened at the sight of the crime lord. He saw Belash from time to time, and every time it took all of his restraint not to tear him to pieces. Kenril, Jonn had learned, was a rogue magician. Once a student at the college, he had renounced his place in law-abiding society and taken up residence as Belash’s pet magician. It was Kenril that had healed the Wrench’s shattered wrist the day Jonn saved his life, and if you were important enough in Belash’s organisation, healing was made available to you too.
Gordo was gulping great, desperate lungfuls of air. He looked like a fish that had been pulled from the water and left on the river bank to die. Kenril knelt down and placed his hand on Gordo’s chest. White light blossomed beneath that hand, but Gordo had breathed his last. His fat, flaccid lips hung open and slack, and his chest was still.
“Too late,” Kenril said as he stood up. “His heart failed him.”
Belash looked away from Gordo’s corpse. “Was Gordo’s shipment coming in today?” he asked.
“At midday,” the Wrench answered. Gordo was senior among Belash’s men, and looked after the shipments of precious opiates smuggled onto the docks.
“Then who’s going to take his place?” Belash asked.
Jonn saw his chance. If he was sent to the docks, he’d be able to get away from headquarters legitimately, and if the shipment wasn’t due till midday, then he might even have time to get to Hephistole and make it back in time. “I’ll do it,” he said.
Belash turned to eye him intently. “Isn’t this the man who saved your life Wrench?” “That’s right. Tarek,” the Wrench responded.
“Do you trust him?” Belash asked.
“As much as I trust any of this rabble,” the Wrench answered with a brief laugh.
Belash eyed Jonn a moment longer. “Fine,” he said. “If you mess this up, you’re a dead man, understood?”
“I understand,” Jonn said.
Belash grunted and turned away. “Bring the body,” he said to Kenril. The magician waved a hand and Gordo’s corpse rose into the air and drifted out of the room after him.
…
Jonn couldn’t leave for the docks straight away. There were still several hours to go before midday, and although he could justify leaving early to make sure everything was in place for the delivery, he couldn’t get away with a full morning. Having said that, a whole hour had passed since the stone had turned black, so his disguise was in greater danger of failing, and Jonn had n
o desire to see how close he could push it!
It was going to be tight. He figured he could justify leaving headquarters an hour and a half in advance of the delivery, but that was as close as he could push it without anyone getting suspicious. That left him plenty of fear-drenched time to kill. The Wrench used up some of that time giving him specific instructions about the operation at the docks, and he filled the rest of it doing manual tasks around headquarters. He was constantly on edge, ready to fight or run at any moment if his disguise fell, but it didn’t happen. Every moment that passed felt like an eternity, but pass they did, and finally, when he couldn’t wait any longer, he headed for the exit. The Wrench had told him to use the men at the docks to receive the delivery itself. They knew the drill, so there was no need to take anyone else with him, which was just as well, because he had no intention of going straight there.
There were exits from headquarters that would have been more convenient, but Jonn was forced to take the one closest to the docks for the sake of appearances. That particular exit opened up into the network of twisting sewers that ran beneath the city and, like all exits from the warehouse, it was always guarded. As Jonn headed down the last stretch of corridor, his face started prickling all over. He stopped, panicking. Was that the disguise failing? He glanced behind him, running through his options with a racing heart. Going back wasn’t an option. If his disguise had failed that could only mean one thing – he had to go onwards, but did he pull his sword and go out fighting, or did he hope his disguise was still intact? The guards would stop him for sure if it wasn’t. Jonn held onto the pommel of his sword for a moment, but then he let it go and dropped his hand. He’d got this far by keeping his head, not by losing it. Stepping forwards, he covered the last few yards of corridor and emerged into the dingy sewer, lit only by diffuse sunlight filtering in from the occasional grate above.