So, every day, Jan scaled the steep slope up Table Mountain until his need for a puff overwhelmed his need to get away from his wife. Sometimes, he stopped on a low escarpment, a small jaunt away from the settlement. Other times, he went higher, sitting on the side of a rockface, his legs swinging over the abyss.
Today of all days, however, Jan went higher. He had received an earful from his wife that morning. He admittedly wasn’t paying attention to what she had been saying but knew that he didn’t want to be home for a while. He had stockpiled a decent amount of pipe tobacco, his own strong mix. It was more than enough for a few hours on the peak. If he smoked slowly, it could last him days, even.
So, Jan hiked and scrambled up to the flat-bed top of the mountain that dominated the Cape, until there was no sound but that of the wind and his heart beating from his exertion. He had to remind himself that he wasn’t a young buccaneer anymore.
Jan had climbed to the peak often enough before. Often enough to have a favourite smoking place. A rock overlooking the bay. A large boulder was located behind said rock, providing pleasant shade and protection from the Cape winds. He caught his breath and made his way to his claimed rock. As he approached, however, he found that he was not alone. A stranger sat by his rock, on a rock of his own. As if waiting for Jan to take his seat. Of course, that was silly. This was a stranger, after all. They’d not know Jan’s habits. This stranger was like Jan himself. A man pushed from sea-level, up and up into solitude.
Jan, unafraid, walked closer. The stranger, Jan now saw, was clothed in a black suit, with a black, wide-brimmed hat to match. He was sitting with his legs apart, watching the soil below his feet. So deep in thought that he didn’t comment when Jan sat down on his rock opposite him.
Jan raised his eyebrow at the stranger, especially at his silence. When someone came within speaking distance, you spoke to them. Or at least acknowledged their presence with a glance and a nod. This black clothed man did neither. Was he asleep?
Jan drew out his pipe, a long wooden piece. An antique from his pirating days. He decanted his mix into the pipe and brought out a flint and steel to light it.
A click, click, and a spark brought the wonderful acrid scent into Jan’s nostrils and mouth. He inhaled, and then exhaled. Bliss.
“Can I join you with that, good man?”
The sudden question from the stranger made Jan jump. The stranger looked at him, with a cordial close-mouthed smile. His features were young, unscarred by the ravages of time or hard work. His nose was sharp. His eyes were intense, but Jan found them comforting rather than unsettling. They were the eyes of a young man who had not learnt to cloud his vision with apathy and mistrust.
“I find myself with a pipe and tobacco, but without a light,” the stranger continued.
Jan looked at his flint and steel, lying by him on his rock. He picked them up and passed them to the stranger, who lit his own pipe. Jan watched as the stranger’s small smile turned into a wide grin of relief and joy. The stranger inhaled, and then exhaled a ring of smoke, that was promptly carried away by the wind.
“Thank you, good man. It is such a terrible thing to have the world at one’s fingertips, but to have forgotten the key.”
Jan grunted in agreement. He was a man of few words. The stranger returned the flint and steel and then carried on puffing contently. Jan continued to smoke in silence, looking out over the Cape. The stranger was also quiet.
They were silent for the entire meeting, until, finally, the stranger packed up his pipe and left. Jan nodded his goodbyes. The stranger smiled and disappeared in the distance. Jan returned home to a wife that complained that his clothing smelled like smoke.
The next day, Jan felt compelled to scale to the top of the mountain again. Like clockwork, the stranger was there to meet him once again. This time, the stranger had brought his own flint and steel, but had forgotten his pipe. Jan had extras, however, and shared. They smoked in relative silence, only passing comment at the rare ship that came to dock at the waterfront. Then, they departed like the day before.
Days followed, and Jan and the stranger met every day. It was odd, their relationship, but one that Jan came to cherish. Long silences, enjoying their tobacco and the occasional comment. It helped that the stranger had complimented Jan’s tobacco mix. Jan prided himself on not much else.
One day, Jan arrived at the usual time to meet the stranger, who was already smoking. The stranger nodded in greeting and Jan nodded back.
There was the usual silence for just a bit, and then the stranger spoke.
“It is a clear day today. Not much wind. It makes me feel quite energetic.”
Jan grunted in response, decanting tobacco into his pipe.
“How about,” the stranger said, orientating himself to face the now seated Jan, “we have a bit of a contest?”
Jan raised his eyebrow.
“Only if there is a wager involved,” Jan answered, his unlit pipe in his hand. While he did not like this energy, he was a man of solemn long silences after all, he was also a gambling man at heart. A pirate needed to be. “A contest is only worth anything if there’s something at stake.”
The stranger laughed. “Isn’t that going a bit too fast? We haven’t established the competition yet.”
Jan held up his pipe. “We do what we usually do, but this time, with stakes. Nobody has ever outsmoked me. I doubt anyone on Earth could outsmoke Jan van Hunks.”
Jan was a man of few words, but not a humble man.
“Excellent idea! And the wager?”
Jan shrugged. He didn’t know what to wager. He had everything he wanted.
“How about: your soul against the kingdoms of the world?”
Perplexed, Jan raised his eyebrow. The stranger grinned, showing his teeth and then roared in laughter.
“Not that ambitious? Well, then. Your soul against a bottle of red gold rum.”
Jan grinned. He loved his rum. And who needed a soul anyway? He offered his hand to agree to the terms. The stranger accepted, and they shook. Despite Jan’s superior muscles and more callused hands, the stranger had an impressive grip.
“I find myself without any more tobacco, however. Would you share your mix with me? It smells…impressive.”
Jan nodded. He enjoyed showing off his mix. The stranger deposited some leaves into his pipe and lit it. Jan did the same.
They began.
It started out like every other time. They smoked in silence. Smoked and smoked. But this time, neither of them stopped. The stranger did not stand to leave, and Jan did not go home to his wife. They smoked and smoked. When their pipes ran out, they replaced the tobacco with more. Yet, the more leaves they took from Jan’s stash, the more the stash seemed to grow in size. Jan knew that after the sun set, darkness fell, and then the sun rose again, that he should be tired, hungry and parched. But he was not. All that mattered was the pipe in his mouth and the stranger smoking in front of him.
Days passed, and the sky filled with their smoke. It spread out so heavily that not even the Cape’s legendary gusts of wind could push them away. Rather, the smog settled on top of Table Mountain, forming an appropriate tablecloth. Days turned to weeks. Months. The tobacco never ran out, and Jan’s humanness was forgotten. So was his wife, that he had loved once. All that mattered was the pipe in his hand and the smoke billowing from it.
Finally, when the haze of the smoke formed a very real cloud over the entirety of Table Mountain’s peak, one that would return for all time, the stranger facing Jan coughed. Kept smoking. Then coughed again. His cough turned into a sputter, and he promptly doubled over, retching.
Jan noted two things. First, was the complete elation that he had won. Second, the stranger’s wide-brimmed hat had fallen off, revealing a pair of horns.
Jan’s pipe fell from his lips and he uttered, despite the dryness of his throat. “The devil himself!”
“Yes, and I do not like losing a wager.”
There was no hint of the
cordiality that had once defined Jan’s strange companion. No civil grin or good humour, but a snarl that twisted the youthful face into a demonic visage.
“I beat you fair and square, devil!” Jan shouted, over the howling wind that now threatened to deafen him. Wreathes of smoke and flame replaced the stranger’s black clothes. A pair of bat-like wings erupted from his back.
“And I will not take your soul. You will get your precious rum, Van Hunks, but you shall not be able to return home to drink it. You shall stay here, for all time. You shall form this tablecloth of smoke for future generations. An eternity to regret besting me.”
Jan did not reply. He could not. With those words, his humanity was struck from him. The devil dispersed, as if he was never there, but Jan remained, involuntarily smoking his pipe. Forever, and ever.
***
So, that’s what caused the tablecloth, Table Mountain’s iconic cloud cover. Well, assuming the story was true. And that was an unsafe assumption. Modern science had plenty of explanations for clouds. But the story was interesting nonetheless. It revealed that there was a demonic myth in the Cape and, if my forays into demonology had taught me anything, demon stories should not be scoffed at. There was power to a story, even if it was just a story. Van Hunks, as real or fictitious as he may be, believed the stranger to be the devil. The problem with that assessment was that post-Cataclysmic denizens now understood that there was not one devil. There were many. In fact, it was one of the most populous sub-categories of demons. Horned, wily creatures, often with bat-like wings and cloven hooves. While all demons were threatening, devils weren’t considered all that special. The creature in this book didn’t sound like a devil. Rather, it sounded like one of the arch-demons of Judeo-Christian tradition. The unenlightened interchangeably referred to every demon as the devil, however, making discerning the identity of such a demon difficult.
“If only we could find a name,” I muttered, paging through the rest of the book to no avail. It was a collection of folk stories, not a treatise on an obscure demon of Cape mythology.
“There can’t be too many demon names to go through,” Treth offered.
“Doesn’t matter. If I had a name, I could banish it with a little help from our neighbourhood purifier. But if I use the wrong name, the demon could use that vulnerability to curse or even destroy me outright.”
“Not worth the risk…”
“You don’t think?” I answered sarcastically. I returned the book to its shelf and rubbed my temples. The story was interesting, but it didn’t bring me any closer to figuring out how to defeat the demon. But what had Cindy said?
“Stories are powerful. Demons like narratives,” I muttered to myself. I felt Treth nod. He also remembered it.
“There must be something in the story. That rock where we met the demon sounds too eerily similar for it to just be a coincidence.”
I nodded. “He also mentioned some stuff…I cannot recall outright. Was a bit distracted.”
“He mentioned a smoking competition and cursing someone,” Treth said. “I am pretty sure these demons are one and the same.”
“Still doesn’t bring us any closer to defeating him…”
“Kat?” a voice sounded. To my credit, I didn’t jump, but I did reach for my swords that weren’t there. I was lucky too, that they weren’t there, as the source of the voice was Colin Philips, my one-time pro-bono attorney. He’d helped me get off a murder case. Well, a vigilantism case. He was peering between the gaps of the bookshelves, carrying a stack of books underneath his one arm.
“Colin? What are you doing here?” I tried to hide my fluster at the surprise but failed.
He indicated the book pile. “Alumni can still use the library. Was picking up some legal history books.”
“For work?”
“For fun.”
It takes all types.
I sidled out of the narrow movable bookshelf aisle and was re-acquainted with the chill of the dungeon.
“So, Kat…how’ve things been?”
I shrugged. “Same old. You?”
“Work’s been going well. How did your date go?”
My cheeks involuntarily reddened.
“Date? What date?” I asked fast.
“Your goth friend was speaking loud enough for the entire mall to hear. Lecturing you on everything from fashion to cinema etiquette.”
Trudie. Damn Trudie. Couldn’t she be a bit quieter? Well, that was in the past. Trudie wasn’t telling me how to date Andy now. She was dating Andy. I couldn’t really articulate how that made me feel.
“Date didn’t…go as planned. Ran into a monster.”
“Sounds like your usual night.”
I snorted in amusement. “Yeah, quite.”
“And?”
“This an interrogation?”
Colin grinned, almost boyishly. I noted that his smile was kinda cute. His glasses suited him. Made him look nerdy, but the same way Clark Kent looked nerdy. There was nothing wrong with being nerdy. I’d like to call myself a nerd, but my active workout regime prevented me from that privilege. Unless we’re judging nerdiness by obsession with niche topics. Then I’m definitely a nerd. My niche is just a bit more violent than most.
“Habit,” he said. “Been cross examining and interviewing witnesses and clients for weeks now.”
“Let’s just say that the guy and I didn’t see eye to eye.”
“A lot of rhyming there.”
I couldn’t help but grin. That was nerdy, but the rhyming was half on purpose. I appreciated that he noticed.
An awkward silence followed as I didn’t reply. I saw Colin fidget a bit with his book.
“Well…uh…don’t want to keep you any longer. You must be busy.”
“Ah, yeah.”
Colin began walking off.
“Colin…”
He stopped and turned.
“Um…nice running into you here. Would you…uh…possibly like to hang out sometime?”
Colin smiled. “That’d be great.”
I gave him my number and he gave his to me as my cheeks flushed red. After he left, I found myself standing in the middle of the now empty dungeon.
“So…” Treth said. “Kat likes a boy?”
“Shut up, Treth,” I said, but couldn’t help but smile.
Chapter 10.
Necro
“Didn’t see you come in last night,” Mrs Ndlovu said as I greeted her outside my apartment building. She was wiping the grit off an ‘Enter at your own risk’ sign. It was a new addition. She suspected a gremlin might have taken residence in the building after a few inhabitants had to replace some broken lightbulbs. “Or leave this morning.”
“Went camping,” I said with a genuine smile. I liked my landlady. She was very forgiving when I couldn’t pay my rent on time. Her eccentricities were a small price to pay, if they were even a price.
I made my way to my apartment where a very angry Alex greeted me.
“I’m sorry, boy,” I told him in a baby voice, squatting to stroke him. He refused my advances and ran to his food bowl.
I didn’t like my cat being angry at me. Someone needed to pay for causing such a thing.
My phone rang and the caller immediately gave me someone on which to vent my anger.
“Kat,” Conrad said, I didn’t let him finish.
“The entire night, Conrad. You know where I was for the entirety of last night?”
“The peak?”
“The fucking peak.”
“Sorry about that,” he said, sounding genuinely bashful. “I’ve already spoken to Charlotte, the liaison. She says she’ll make sure the guards are disciplined.”
I didn’t respond. I hoped my ire could be felt through the phone. I moved to Alex and opened a sachet of cat food with one hand. It was some gourmet cat food. More expensive than the stuff I was eating. I really needed to look after myself more…
“Well,” Conrad said. “Did you find anything?”
; “A demon,” I said, still a hint of anger in my voice, but it was abating. “Already spoken to Cindy Giles about it and looked it up. Connected to some old Cape myth.”
“And?”
“It admitted to killing the mages.”
A pause.
“What did Cindy say?”
“To be careful and to pay attention to narratives.”
“Do that then. Cindy knows her stuff.”
“I will.”
I was about to hang up when he spoke again.
“Kat, I got some info on the Necrolord.”
That got my attention.
“What is it?”
“General quietness in the slums. Too quiet, actually. A lot of the gang wars have stopped. It is as if something has united them. A Leviathan, of some sorts.”
“Hobbes?”
“Yeah, unless a giant sea monster is dominating the slum gangs. Anyway, the slums have been too quiet. That was until an entire block disappeared. Not the buildings, of course, but all the people. At least a hundred, just vanished.”
I frowned. Trudie had vanished alongside all the guests at the Eternity Lounge. The necromancer had admitted to abducting her for the Blood Cartel.
“Sounds like my necromancer’s MO.”
“Yeah. Thought you’d like to know.”
“Thanks, Conrad. So, when do I get on the case?”
“Not now, Kat. You’ve got a high paying contract with the Citadel. Focus on that demon. Don’t be distracted.”
“But…”
“No buts. The Necrolord will see justice eventually. You don’t need to go swimming in the slums when you should be on top of Table Mountain.”
Begrudgingly, I nodded even though he couldn’t see me. My silence was assent enough for him though.
“Good. Keep me updated on the hunt.”
“I will.”
He hung up.
“Let’s get rid of this demon so we can focus on the primary villain,” Treth said.
“That assumes we can get rid of the demon.”
“What demon?” Duer asked, floating down from his bird-house abode.
“A smartly dressed bastard on top of the mountain.”
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