by Scott Hale
“Gravedigger?” Francis was about the size of Warren, except she was more fat than muscle. She looked like a toad sitting on that stool of hers, and when she spoke, she croaked like one, too.
“Starting to feel popular around these parts.” Atticus did a double-take of the tent as Warren drew back the flap. “Big place you got here.”
“Better than the one I’ve got back home,” Warren said. He went to the table and waved them over. “They’re fine, Francis. What Hex wants, Hex gets. For a little more coin, I offered to give her a striptease, but she didn’t bite.”
Francis rolled her bulged-out eyes. “Keep saying stupid shit like that and she just might.”
Warren went solemn. “Don’t mind her. She’s grumpy. Come here, come here. Have a gander at the grinder we’re about to throw ourselves in.”
“He’s a ghoul.” Francis repositioned herself on the stool, perturbed. Pointing at James, she added, “He’s too young.”
“And he can’t die,” Hex said mockingly. She looked at Atticus. “What’re you getting at?”
“I like to know who’s tagging along and why. If Hex wants you, fine. That’s fine. But I heard you say something out there about how Blythe stole something. What did he steal?”
Atticus gave no response.
“I’m not trying to get in your personal business. I’m forming squads, so I need to know where to put you.”
“Blythe killed all of us, my family.” He pulled down his armor and shirt, revealing the crater in his chest. “He left me and took their bodies. I’ve come to get them back. To see they’re laid to rest right.”
Francis opened her mouth and then shut it. It was probably the first time in a long time something had left her at a loss for words.
“You really did die?”
“I did.”
“Hey now, how’d you come back?” Warren asked.
Atticus shrugged. “Unfinished business, I suppose. I don’t care to know until what I need to do is done.”
“I know where to put you,” Francis said, softening up some. “Commit this to memory, everyone who is coming. Eldrus couldn’t have picked a better place to do terrible things. You see it? The architecture? The insanity of it? Look, look at it.”
It was true, every word of what the woman said. Carpenter Plantation was madness made manifest. The blueprints stated there were three floors and a basement, but all Atticus saw was a cramped labyrinth of walls and half-rooms, with hallways that ran in circles and staircases that led nowhere. There were pits that plummeted into the basement, and areas on the third floor that were inaccessible altogether. In places, doors lined the floor, leading to crawlspaces where one could scurry like a rat the length of the place. And elsewhere, there were rumblings of a second basement—the scrawl beside the plans demanding it be placed on the third floor… upside down.
“Guess they never heard of the word ‘attic,’” Atticus said. “Where’d you dig this up?”
“We got it from an old man we interrogated,” Warren said. His face went dark. “Nice guy. He had quite the collection of Old World memorabilia. He said he kept the blueprints updated. It was a project of his. Damndest thing, though. We went easy on him, didn’t we, Francis?”
She nodded.
“We went easy on him, but the excitement was too much. His heart gave right out. He just keeled over his coffee. Scared the hell out of me.”
Francis sighed and said, “We did right by him, though.”
“We did do that, we did. He was a sweet old man. Didn’t have anyone, and we didn’t want Eldrus grabbing up his corpse, so we gave him a proper send-off. Francisco, that was his name.”
“Well, aren’t you sweethearts?” Hex said.
“Honey, not all monsters are monsters.” Warren bit his lip and then continued. “It’s not just the plantation’s construction that’s got us worried. You can hear things coming from it.”
Francis nodded. “Screaming. Wailing. For most of the night, that’s all there is. No animals come near the area anymore because of it.”
“And they’re taking corpses?” Gary asked. He sounded worried, as though Eldrus would eye his husk and get the need to have it.
“Mostly,” Francis answered. “Dead body is a dead body. You put it in the ground and you forget about it, like a seed that’s never going to grow into anything. But some of the protestors have gone missing after a rally. So they’re not above taking the living, either.”
“It’s because they have an excuse with the protestors,” James said, biting his thumb. “They’re interfering, trespassing. Whatever they’re up to in the plantation… with those plants… they’re terrified of it getting out.”
“Something about it has them spooked,” Atticus said. “This is a delicate thing they must be doing.”
“Ichor,” Hex whispered. “Have you heard any more about him?”
Warren shook his head. “Nothing. We know they still have prisoners.” He looked at Atticus. “We know Blythe brought in the last shipment. There’s still hope for the both of you.”
“Better be.” Hex rubbed her fingers together. “I’m getting what’s mine, whether it’s my brother or the coin I put in your pocket. We’re not leaving here empty-handed.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Warren said.
“So you know about the plants? The vermillion veins?” Francis was slow on the draw, but she caught up all the same. “James, is it?”
Atticus raised his hand and responded instead. “I saw them, in the dead body they brought back home for me to bury. Blythe and Bon, I mean. My… wife cut off Bon’s arm and I saw them grow it right back, the veins did.”
“I think they’re from the Nameless Forest,” Gary threw in.
“Yeah,” Hex said dryly.
“Well, I could see that.” Francis tapped on the table with her thumb. “We’ve heard about the growths. Sometimes, they come through the yards in Cathedra, like roots trying to spread. When the soldiers find out, they dig them up and more or less quarantine the spot.”
“And we’ve been thinking,” Warren said, “that, sure, Carpenter Plantation does have that kind of cozy, crazy charm to it that makes it perfect for bad business, but there’s got to be more. Nameless Forest or not, whatever they’re doing to the bodies, it must come from there. They set up in that place not by choice but by necessity. Eldrus knows better than to trifle with Cathedra.”
“Eldrus has been sending soldiers into the Heartland for a while now,” Atticus said. “Blythe told me that what they were doing, putting the veins in the corpses, was to stop the land from dying.”
Hex added, “Ichor said they’re trying to throw together another Nameless Forest.”
“Well, I could see that,” Francis said again, “but I don’t see why they would. You said they healed a man, didn’t you?”
Atticus nodded. “I did.”
“It could be they’re putting this crap in the ground to call on later. Has some sort of will, don’t it? Or can be controlled, at least. Eldrus has been wanting the Heartland awhile now. If the towns don’t give and keep trying to push them out, they could just call on these vermillion veins and that’d be that. Can’t rebel if your town is overgrown. Can’t fight back if the soldier you’re cutting at can’t be killed.”
“You’re so smart, Francis,” Warren said, leaning and planting a wet one on her forehead. “Hex, I love working for you. Makes me feel less like a mercenary and more like a do-gooder.”
Hex laughed and shook her head.
“Are you okay?” Atticus whispered to her. She didn’t look it.
“Yeah,” Hex said back, without opening her mouth or speaking at all.
Atticus raised an eyebrow “How the hell did you just—?”
“Sir.” One of Warren’s men hurried into the tent. “Sir, we saw a woman outside the camp.”
Warren perked up. “What’s that? Eldrus?”
The man shook his head. “Might be a villager. Long coat, big hat. Shepherd, maybe. Want m
e to follow her?”
Warren nodded. “Just to be sure.”
Atticus swallowed hard and said nothing.
“All right, enough chit-chat,” Warren said, returning to the table. “Francis, tell us our teams and how we’re going to help these fine people.”
“Okay, listen closely, because the rest of us aren’t as patient as Warren and I. Hex, the prisoners are being kept on the third floor. Gravedigger, the shipments come out of the back of the house, but there’s some strange tunnel connected to the basement, so that’s where we’re thinking everything is being loaded.
“I’m going to split you all up, because while these aren’t Eldrus’ finest, they are better than most. Hex, you’ll go with Gary, James, Marco, and myself. Gravedigger, what you want is heavily guarded, so you’ll need a tougher crew. Take Jessie, Miranda, Elizabeth, and Warren.”
Warren nudged Atticus. “Looking forward to watching you work.”
“We are the Cabal,” Francis said. “For as long as you’re with us, you’re one of us. Don’t make it personal. We shoulder each other’s burdens. So yours are now ours. We’re expecting about thirty-five soldiers. Most likely we’re going to have to kill them all.
“Two of ours will go in disguise, thanks to those our archers caught. There’ll be five teams altogether.” She pointed to the blueprint. “Hex, you’ll come in from the east, through the kitchen. Gravedigger, you’ll circle around back and wait until the grounds are clear, then you’ll work your way through the study.” She dabbed her finger on the small compartments shaped like stars on what was now their map.
“We’ve been hearing a lot of construction, or deconstruction. It’s hard to say. They’re either building the place up or tearing some of it down. It probably won’t look like what you’ve imagined. So don’t lose your head and stay close to your team. I’ll explain the rest at sundown.” Francis looked over at Atticus and his companions. “Gravedigger, I hope you don’t mind dying, because you might be doing a lot of it tonight.”
“I don’t,” Atticus said.
“Good, that’s good.” Francis finally got up from the table. “Because I’d rather it be you than any of mine. You can appreciate that, can’t you?”
“Just get me to my wife and son and I’ll fall on every sword that’s put in front of me.”
CHAPTER XV
In the cold dusk and descending gloom, Carpenter Plantation waited. Its shiny eyes cast their burning gaze over the property, to singe the shadows until they showed the secrets they kept. Screams, desperate and disbelieving, bellowed out of its locked-up mouths, to be heard by those chanting outside the gates, fevered and frothing.
Atticus and his team lay on a hill, surveying the eastern side of the estate. Somewhere, an order cracked across the grounds. Ten men poured out of the slave shacks at the end of the house. They hopped on their horses and rode down the quarter mile stretch to the gates. The protestors hooped and hollered as they neared.
Several soldiers emerged from various doors, the sounds of their chainmail preceding them. They started patrolling the length of house, up and down the wraparound porch. Occasionally, they would survey the hills around the place, where sentries should’ve been posted and were not; because the Cabal had cut their throats.
The other teams moved through the outskirts, bunching up against the wall that blocked off parts of the estate. Atticus blinked, and then they were gone, into the tunnels they’d dug under the weakest, most overgrown points. It was a short crawl, he was told, but for the sake of cover, they suffered the thorns on the other side of the wall until the coast was clear.
Voices rolled off the second floor balcony as three soldiers stepped onto it. A painted-over door opened on the side of the third. Someone with a bucket slung a gallon of red water over the edge.
At the back of the house, where four carriages were parked, massive steel doors in the earth flung back. A group of three Eldrus soldiers sprinted out, horsed-up a carriage, and drove it through the doorway, down a ramp and into the basement. Ropes attached to the doors pulled them back, to seal off the loading area.
“It’s like they want people to see how it works,” Atticus whispered. “Couldn’t be any more inconspicuous if they tried.”
Jessie, Miranda, and Elizabeth—Warren’s so-called Deadly Beauties—simultaneously looked at Atticus and told him to shut the fuck up. He didn’t have a lot of time to get a feel for the women, but by the way they carried themselves, he was sure he was in good hands.
“Don’t be rude,” Warren said, not bothering to lower his voice. “You know why that is, Gravedigger? Why they’re running around, showing everything off?”
He didn’t.
“Because nobody knows anything,” Jessie answered instead. She looked younger than James, even with the armor on, but Atticus was pretty confidant she could give the boy a run for his money.
“No plans, no one really in charge.” Miranda slid back, holding tightly to her bow. She was the oldest of the group, at a whopping thirty.
“It’s all word of mouth. No records, yeah? And the assumption it’ll get done.” If Hex had a sister, it was probably Elizabeth. Her ears, lips, and nose were heavily pierced. He’d only spied a few, but her arms were covered in enough tattoos to hide her Corruption. “No one knows anything, yeah? That’s why. There’s nothing to know.”
“Can’t get blood from a stone,” Atticus said.
“Everything bleeds,” Miranda said, rearing up. “And there’s always something you can do with what comes out.”
Warren tapped Miranda’s head. “Should’ve named you all the Chatty Cathies. Wait for the signal before you sing.”
“Gary and James better be all right,” Atticus said, to no one in particular.
“If they have a lick of sense,” Jessie said, mocking Atticus’ accent, “they’ll come out just fine.”
“I wouldn’t worry, Gravedigger.” Warren nodded toward the front gates. “Hex alone is a one-woman army. I just sent Francis with her so she wouldn’t pitch a fit. See the new shift there?”
At the gates, the protestors had been flanked by fifteen of Eldrus’ soldiers who had come from Cathedra. The demonstration was on the edge of dispersing, what with all the dirt kicking and hand wringing.
“Hex said fifty soldiers. You said thirty-five,” Atticus said through his teeth.
“Never was good with math. Watch closely,” Warren said, grinning, “and you’ll see a firework show that puts Bedlam’s to shame.”
When the reinforcements had the protestors shaken from their perches outside the gates, the soldiers took up their spots and formed a barricade between them and the bars. There was shouting and there were blows. One wise soldier went to his knees and touched the ground. He seemed surprised by what he found there, so he showed it off to the rest. His brothers looked at his hands—they were covered in something—and started to panic.
“See that fella right there?” Warren said, pointing to a male protestor in bright red. “That’s one of ours.”
The protestor pulled back his arm and threw something, a pouch perhaps, at the gates. In one hellish second, green flames shot out of the ground and immolated the soldiers. Helmets and breastplates fell to the ground as their bodies were melted instantaneously.
“Brimstone and Rapture,” Atticus said, in awe. “How did you even find those powders?”
The protestors had coated the grounds in Brimstone, and the cabalist in disguise had ignited it with a pouch full of Rapture. The fire only burned where the accelerant had been poured, and like all things heated and hateful, it burned out quick.
In fifteen seconds, the fifteen soldiers were no more than one puddle of flesh and fat, sticking to the soles of the townspeople that now trampled through them.
“Miranda, sing us a song,” Warren said.
As the protestors rocked the gates and worked the locks, the mounted guards on the other side were shouting something to those patrolling the house. Miranda stood up, nocked an ar
row, and shot it at a guard on the grounds. Before it met its mark, the soldiers on the second floor and those circling the first hit the ground, too, each with an arrow through an eye or throat. The Cabal archers elsewhere had a song to sing, too.
“Let’s go, Gravedigger, yeah?” Elizabeth said, kicking his ankle.
Warren urged them up, so they got up. Under the cover of Miranda’s volleys, they rushed down the hill, surprising the few soldiers that hadn’t yet been skewered. Atticus’ legs were tight as he bounded towards Carpenter Plantation. Each step was like another snakebite. If he closed his eyes, he saw them there, the Hissing Monarch and her brood.
I’ve come so far, he thought. Two teams emerged from their tunnels beside the walls. It’s almost over, Clementine. We’ll be going home soon, Will.
When the front gate burst open, Atticus drew his sword. Protestors rushed the estate. The mounted soldiers hesitated for a moment, waiting for orders they knew would never come, and went at them. Eldrus rode the townspeople down, hacking off heads and arms, showering themselves in Cathedra’s blood. The fallen begged for mercy, but the best they got was a hoof to the mouth and a throat full of teeth.
By the time the soldiers on horseback realized what was happening behind them, the Cabal were already at the house. Atticus and his team clambered over the railing of the wraparound porch. To their left, more of the Cabal intervened in the front yard slaughter, ripping the men off their horses. To their right, the teams from the walls converged at the back of the house.
“Through there,” Warren said, shouting over the screaming and the sounds of footsteps in and outside of the house. He ran to the end of the porch, where it stopped at a discolored wall. “Paint’s still fresh.” He kicked the wall with his massive legs, flinging back what was now clearly a door. The chain locks lolled off it like tongues. “Skedaddle, god damn it!”