The Lady had gotten clear, but Roods knew that he had two targets, and he zeroed in on Sarwell next. He turned his knife in his hand and straightened his arm, then raised it in a smooth arc that sent the weapon flying point-first toward the candidate. Tym’s shield went up between the man and the blade just before it hit, and the tip bent back as the knife bounced away harmlessly.
“No fun, Wharmley,” Roods said. He leapt into the air and turned with the grace of a ballerina, landing with all his weight behind the fist that crashed into Tym’s face. In a seamless continuation of the movement, he pushed off from the ground with his hand and sprang to his feet. He snagged the shirt of the driver as she rushed toward him and pulled her close, then shoved her back toward Sarwell, throwing them both off balance.
His remaining blade flashed bright in the nighttime. His slash swept past the driver’s throat, opening it in an ugly red spray, and continued uninterrupted until the knife was buried in Sarwell’s back.
The driver fell in an inelegant heap, and The Lady threw her hand toward Roods and sending him spinning away. Merry rushed to Sarwell and grabbed hold of the knife. “He’s still breathing,” she said.
“Of course he is,” said The Lady as she stepped forward. “I’m not worried about him.” She knelt down beside the driver and put two fingers to the girl’s neck. The Lady closed her own eyes for a moment and sighed sadly, then reached up and closed her student’s eyes. She put her other hand over Merry’s and pulled the knife out. “Someone’s got to stop that man.”
The Lady left the knife in Merry’s hand and grabbed Sarwell under his arm, lifting him to his feet with apparent ease. She turned her back on Roods who had another pair of knives out already, and on the many trolls who were coming to join him. Merry held the knife dumbly until Abe stepped up beside her and snatched it from her hand. “I’ll take care of him,” Abe said. He sure hoped Merry was impressed, because he was pretty sure he’d sounded a great deal more confident than he felt. He ran toward Roods who saw him coming, and Roods did something which sapped even more of Abe’s confidence than the prospect of running towards a bunch of angry trolls did: he smiled.
“Student’s become the master, or some such garbage, hmm?” Roods spun his knives one in each hand and then held one out to Abe.
Abe reached for the knife. “I wasn’t really your student, Roods.”
Roods twirled the knife swiftly and let the razor sharp blade glide along Abe’s wrist, leaving a paper thin cut. “Well, it’s got a better ring than coworker versus coworker, though.” He smirked and held the knife out again.
This time Abe did not reach for it. He nodded toward his own knife. “I’ve got one, thanks.”
“Might need two if you’re gonna take on your old boss!” Roods was smiling maniacally now, and behind the tinted glasses he still wore despite the darkness his eyes were huge and his pupils were dilated. He laughed and crouched down, throwing his blades up in impressive arcs and snatching them from the air with relish.
Abe dropped his knife. “You were my employee, Roods, and a subpar one.”
Roods laughed now, as if his employee review had been the greatest joke ever told.
“You’re fired,” Abe said. He drew his revolver fast and smooth and shot Roods in the arm and in the foot.
2.
The regret he felt, almost instantly, was primarily for the joke. A distant secondary regret was that he suspected he probably should have killed Roods.
Instead he had left him badly wounded, possibly incapable of ever walking again, and then he had run back toward the clock tower like his life depended on it. Because it did.
The trolls were nearly upon him, and even though the shape-shifting monster had survived Roods’ attack and was among them once more, they were quite likely capable of killing Abe without even noticing.
The white-painted mass of trolls was taking heavy fire from the soldiers behind them, but despite the pain they focused themselves on the group converging on the clock tower. Tym and Winchell were trying their best to keep them back, and Merry was with The Lady and Sarwell at the door.
“The key,” said The Lady.
Sarwell reached into his inner pocket with some pain. He produced a large, ornate key, all golden and pearl, and handed it to her.
She fit the key into the lock. “Now, your hand goes there,” there was a hand-shaped indentation in the door, an indentation which had been absent earlier. Sarwell put his hand in place.
“Students!” The Lady shouted. “Mud, Wood! It’s time.”
“And Abe,” said Merry meekly.
The Lady turned the key and opened the door. The inside of the clock tower was apparently not what she expected to see. Standing beyond the door was Myrtle, looking confused in her nightgown. “Can I help you?” she asked, blinking helplessly as she observed her ruined doorstep and the strange people gathered on it. The Lady and Sarwell ignored her.
“That it?” Sarwell said. “Seems like we could’ve knocked.” He smiled, quite pleased with himself.
“What time is it, Mr. Sarwell?” The Lady asked.
He looked at his watch. “I’ve got midnight,” he said.
The Lady closed the door. “Your watch is fast.”
“So’s your opponent.” Rooftop’s voice was uncomfortably close. He became visible again as he seized Sarwell and pulled him away, pinning him to the ground and driving his fist into the man with enough force to leave his knuckles imprinted in the dirt.
The Woodsman ran over, weary as a wooden man could look, and said, “apologies, M’Lady. He rammed me into the ground and I had to extricate myself.” His story held up, he was covered with dirt and turf.
He rolled his shoulders and was about to leap to Sarwell’s defense when The Lady held up a hand. “Don’t bother.” She tapped her wrist where a watch would be if she wore one. “another couple of minutes.”
The trolls saw their triumphant leader and broke back from the fighting with cheers and, mostly, flight. Those that were still able ran away from the soldiers who were still fighting, allowing the students and Mud to join the group before the clock tower door.
“I don’t understand,” said Abe. “I thought we had to keep him alive.”
“We just had to get him here,” said Tym dizzily. His lip was split from Roods’ punch, so he spoke carefully. “He doesn’t need help to keep alive.”
“He does now,” said Abe. As soon as he said it, though, he realized it was untrue. Rooftop was still beating Sarwell, but the man wasn’t staying down. It wasn’t that he wasn’t being hurt, however. He was clearly suffering severe injuries, but all the same he kept moving.
“As I said, Mr. Crompton, there are rules. You can’t win an election by murder, so the simplest way to prevent it,” said The Lady, “is for the candidates to be impossible to kill.”
“Yeah,” said Abe, “sounds simple.”
“Of course, the protection only extends to election day,” The Lady said.
“What happens on election day?” Merry asked.
Somehow, impossibly, Abe heard the sound of the chains of the clock tower start to move. “We’ll find out in a second.”
“Now?” Mud asked with its huge, horrible mouth.
“Now,” said the Woodsman,
Mud snaked its long, tentacle-like arms out to seize Sarwell while the Woodsman launched himself at Rooftop. The troll was knocked back and off balance by the attack, and Mud dragged the brutally beaten candidate across the crater to the door.
“Get his hand,” said The Lady, and Tym obliged, raising the man’s limp hand to the door and pushing it into place. The Lady turned the key again and this time when she opened the door it was to reveal a pristine day in another world. The sky was slate grey and fat flakes of snow were falling in a beautiful blanket over rolling hills.
Tym dropped Sarwell’s hand. “What do we do with him?”
“Leave him,” The Lady said. “He’ll be fine. Bring the troll.”
“Bri
ng the troll,” Rooftop thundered. “As if you can stop me!” He caught the Woodsman’s fist and scooped him up with his other hand.
“Hurry,” said The Lady, and ushered her students and Abe ahead of her. She slipped the key from the door and into her pocket while Merry, Winchell, Tym, and Mud went through the door.
“Don’t forget this one, you bitch!” Rooftop threw the Woodsman through the door as easily as he might throw a potato, then ran toward her.
“Mr. Crompton,” The Lady said with some alacrity. Abe ran through the door and was shocked at the cold. He rushed to join the others, shivering, and behind him Rooftop charged through.
The Lady stepped in after him and as soon as she closed the door, it vanished. They were outside now, with no door or other exit in evidence.
She looked at Rooftop and smiled a wicked smile. “Well, Mr. Rooftop?”
The Troll froze as soon as he stepped foot in the snow, looking around in a panic. He ran back to where the door had been and then stopped and fell to his knees. “Oh, you…” he positively moaned it. His voice was intoxicated, he was giggling when he said, “Well done.” All the while he was getting less and less opaque. His pitch black skin was starting to grey and then whiten and he was losing solidity at an alarming rate.
In a moment he was totally invisible, like he was never there at all.
Chapter Thirty: Top of the world
1.
Rooftop’s final delighted giggle hung in the crisp snowy air long after he was gone, the pitch rising higher and higher as he became less and less. Finally it faded completely, leaving the impression that he was very far and very happy to be there.
“It isn’t that warm here,” said Abe. “Why did he…?” he raised his hand and waggled the fingers as if to illustrate what had happened.
The Lady rubbed the tops of her arms with her hands and shivered in the snow. “It isn’t warm that makes a troll fade, Mr. Crompton, but magic.”
Abe felt he should nod. He did. “Is there a lot here, then?”
“Why, Mr. Crompton, this is where magic comes from.”
Abe glanced toward Merry and Tym, who were both looking around as if a leprechaun might come out and grant wishes… here, in this cold and snowy place they looked like children on the morning after Yule.
Mud and the Woodsman didn’t look much different. They both walked out along the path where the door had been, Mud’s face a parody of delight. The Woodsman’s face was doing all the right things for him to be smiling, as well, but that worked out no better than usual. They were standing on each side of The Lady when Mud spoke, still using Begonia’s voice. “Abe, there is more power here than you can imagine.” The smile grew wider still. “Power enough to rival the very gods.”
The Lady glanced askance at Mud. “Begonia, dear, you sound—“
It was difficult at first to see why she cut off so abruptly, but it soon became obvious. The Woodsman lifted his arm higher and the jagged tip of what had been his arm pushed out through the front of The Lady’s throat, the wood grain stained a deep red with her blood. She gurgled, her eyes wide with shock and terror. Merry screamed.
The weight of her massive pile of hair, so carefully composed even through all the violence of the night, pulled her head back as the muscles in her neck went slack. Her fingers flexed weakly and then went limp, and the Woodsman raised his arm still higher and tore the wound open more. He nearly lifted her off the ground before his arm severed her neck completely, her head toppling backwards from the weight of her bun. Her slender body fell forward gracelessly, the stump of her neck staining the white snow red.
Aghast, Abe finally reached for his gun but Mud was quicker, its hand slapping Abe’s. The fingers elongated and encircled his wrist. He tried to fire anyway, but Mud squeezed and twisted, and Abe couldn’t hold onto the gun. It dropped to the snow and Mud kept twisting. Abe tried to turn with the force being applied but could only go so far before the pain became too much. He swung his other hand around to try and pry free but Mud trapped this hand as if Abe had punched tar, tendrils reaching out to seize his wrist and arm up to the elbow.
“Let him go,” said Tym. His deep, sonorous voice was confident and strong. He held his hands up threateningly. Behind him Merry was poised as well, and even Winchell, despite being head-to-toe covered in dust and his own blood.
“I don’t think he will,” said the Woodsman. He stepped over The Lady’s corpse and knelt to pick up Abe’s gun and to take the key from The Lady. He turned the revolver over curiously, checked the chamber, and pointed it at Abe.
Tym stepped in toward the two monsters and tensed and lashed out with… with nothing. He looked at his hands confused. The confusion was reflected on Merry and Winchell’s faces as well. Mud smiled with a badly distorted and over-sized version of Tym’s face stretched out far above them on an impossible neck as it held Abe in an amorphous mass of tentacles and clay.
“If you think very hard,” said the Woodsman, “you’ll know why there’s no magic for you here.” He tilted his head mockingly, leveled the gun, and shot Abe in the stomach.
Mud released Abe and let him fall like a sack of potatoes. “Run,” said Tym.
“Ru-un,” mocked Mud as it slowly reached its tentacle arms towards them.
“There’s no door!” Merry screamed as she ran the few steps back to where they had come through, the door, of course, no more present than Rooftop.
Tym stepped into the Woodsman’s path and threw a punch that landed flush with the monster’s face. The cracking was of bone, not wood. Tym screamed and pulled his hand back but stood his ground. The Woodsman dropped the gun, made a fist with his only remaining hand, and punched Tym in his shoulder so hard that the arm immediately went limp and Tym found new octaves for his cries of pain as he fell.
“Tym!” Merry cried out as she clasped Winchell’s hand and looked frantically back and forth from Tym and Abe to where the door should be. The Woodsman stepped on Tym’s foot as he collapsed and Tym screamed anew as the bones yielded to wood and weight.
“Merry, how do we get home,” Winchell asked pathetically as he backed into her side.
“Magic,” said Mud with perfect sadism. Its tendrils reached their ankles at the same time, catching each of them like a snare.
Tym rolled over and tried to push himself up to his knees and the Woodsman kicked him savagely in the face. Some of the blood from his nose was thrown far enough by the force of the kick to reach Merry’s leg. “Remember not to kill them,” said the Woodsman.
“I know,” said Mud.
And a few minutes later, if Merry or Winchell or Tym or Abe were conscious, they would only have wished they were dead.
2.
When they had passed through the door the landscape had been pristine. The snow lay like a thick inviting blanket over the gently rolling hills of Hemina, here and there a copse of evergreen breaking up the monotony and giving shelter to the animals that eschewed hibernation to frolic in the cold.
Now, of course, the snow was mostly horrifying gradations of red, mostly a sort of pink that suggested a steak too close to potatoes or, more accurately, blood staining snow. Abe had been spared the worst of it, if anyone could rightly call being shot in the stomach ‘being spared.’ He woke from the pain and spent five minutes groaning and working up the courage to roll over, certain that it would hurt like hell when he tried to engage the muscles of his stomach. He wasn’t disappointed by the pain.
Panting, he was somewhat comforted by the cold snow soaking through his shirt, but the sight that greeted his eyes was no comfort at all. Closest to him was Tym, whose nose was clearly broken. Several of his fingers bent the wrong way and his shoe was split completely apart, revealing that what was inside bore no resemblance to a foot. Beyond him was little Winchell, who had barely been standing before the betrayal. Now he lay like a wounded bird, his face pale and his chest rising and falling rapidly as he stared blankly up. His right hand was gone, and gods only knew what else ha
d been done to him.
Merry was unrecognizable, her face swollen and her neck a network of bruises. She appeared otherwise unhurt, except for her knee, which bent the wrong way, all purple and off, a disconcerting pool of blood soaking into the snow around her leg.
“Merry…?” Abe said. Or he tried. It was more of a croak, and when he took a breath to try again the pain of simply breathing made him want to give up. “Mer?” He’d have sworn that they were all dead by the amount of reaction he was getting except for the frantic terrified breathing of Winchell and the vague memory of their assailants saying something about not killing anyone.
Working his fingers slowly open and closed, Abe realized, painfully, that only his right hand was injured and that his left hand and arm were simply cold. He carefully turned his head and gathered a handful of snow, and then he flicked it toward Tym’s face. It took a few tries, but finally he was rewarded by Tym’s eyes fluttering open. “Wha…?” Tym said and then, louder, “ow, my face.” He blinked and groaned and looked at Abe and said, “did you do this to me, Abe?” And then, sullenly, “I don’t even think Mer likes me, so you didn’t have to.”
“Tym, no,” Abe said, then drew a shuddering breath. “Woodsman,” he said. It hurt too much to elaborate.
“Right.” Tym closed his eyes and clenched his jaw tight for a moment. Abe would have worried he was losing consciousness again except that his fingers were moving. At least the fingers that were still able to move were moving. He exhaled through his gritted teeth finally and said, “No good. Magic’s gone.” He turned his head with evident pain to look at Abe. “Feel any better?”
“A little,” said Abe, which was a lie. He reached out for a handful of snow as if that would somehow give him purchase and tried to move toward the others. He wound up with a handful of snow, brand new pain in his arms and chest and stomach, and no forward progress. “Can you get to Merry? How is she?”
Tym inched toward her, better at concealing his pain with every movement than Abe, and was soon close enough to touch Merry’s bare ankle. “Cold,” he said.
Highmark Page 21