“You ought to resign yourself. The book and I are inseparable. I won’t leave it as long as I’m alive.”
Abruptly, a third, dark figure appears, illuminated for an instant by the lightning.
Hearing the melodious voice of Nylmeris arranged into an evil symphony of hate chills the very blood in my veins.
“A negligible task, now that I’ve found you.”
Gilder tries to unsheathe his enchanted steel, but he is interrupted by the powerful will of his master. He tumbles and knocks over the Cromlech of books, and is momentarily put out of action.
I grip my Altra and take aim. Nylmeris writhes like a snake to stop me from getting a clear shot. I only just catch the movement at the origin of the impact in my stomach, which in a single movement projects me into the hall. In perfect harmony with my off-field twirl, the elf performs another spell while I’m trying to free myself from a pile of paintings which have fallen off the wall.
The Altra vibrates and hisses just before a thousand invisible injections of pain pierce my body, wrenching an animal-like howl from my body.
One of the runes has counteracted the magic, weakening its strength, even the smallest movement causes intolerable agony. In memory of the pest control guy, I deduce he wanted to paralyse me and kill me later, once he had seen to his blonde nemesis. Instead, thanks to the resistance from the pistol, I am only paralysed by the stabs of pain which punish even shallow breathing.
Now, I am a mere spectator of the duel.
The stripper has jumped back into the ring with an acrobatic leap, the two swords lash the air like whips, they court each other and clash. Master and pupil are enveloped in a steel turbine, closely entwined in a dance which is destined to satisfy the victor’s hunger for vendetta.
Nylmeris, as though possessed, mercilessly attacks Gilder’s defences, threatening his elegance and inexorably forcing him into a corner. The blonde is clearly in grave difficulty, he reminds me of the boxing match last Friday. Unfortunately, this time there’s no deliberation from the judges after a certain number of inconclusive comebacks.
I try and move my arm. The expansion of my ribcage which is needed to produce the howl of pain caused by my attempt provokes additional agony, and I fall into a spiral of suffering. This goes on for I don’t how long before I eventually focus on the fight again. Cohl will have been dead on the back seat of his car for some time now, so there’s no pressing need to shoot and inform Nylmeris that I am still capable to do so, in fact I’ll leave my police gun right where it is, in its holster. Even though I’m as rigid as a side-lined marionette, now I’ve got the Altra in my lap, halfway to being able to shoot.
The blonde steps up his execution, and gains some ground. Following a fluid downward blow to the left he seems to catch Nylmeris off guard with a sudden sweeping stroke to his ankle. Nylmeris falls to the ground in a somersault, and misses the blade of his adversary by the skin of his teeth. The tables have turned. From what I’ve learned from films I’ve seen, the style of a silk blade is best expressed when the swordsman has more space in which to manoeuvre his weapon. Not that this makes a closed environment like this living room any safer, but forcing one’s adversary into the corner does however further reduce his opportunities for a response. At least I think it does.
All I have to do is slowly lift my arm… ah! … more slowly… from this range, the Altra will do most of the work… ow… I just need to wait a minute…
Gilder’s burning determination requires substantial physical power. Despite the advantage he managed to obtain with his previous move, Nylmeris appears to outclass him in terms of performance as much as in ability. A formidable sequence of attacks, rather like a seamless wave, stuns the younger opponent, forcing him to retreat.
The colonel is practically in my line of fire… I just need to wait for a rare lull in the dance and stick a…
Now!
It doesn’t go off.
My finger ignores the order.
Fucking magic contract. If I kill him, the bond is automatically violated, Nylmeris will never be brought to justice. I’d swear if it didn’t cost me so much.
I can’t kill him.
But I could shoot Gilder, just to get my own back. It would be a real treat, it could also alleviate this frustrating feeling of uselessness, inevitability. Pity the stripper is my only hope of getting out of this mess.
Yet another example of pointless hope, given that the master is beating his ex-pupil into a corner.
My champ’s sword repeatedly strikes the shelf and the wall.
“You stubbornly refuse to accept the fate that you even admire in my coils,” rages Nylmeris, in Elvish. I didn’t think I could still understand the Elvish language. Excellent. Pity there’s no fucking point now.
“The fate that dogs like you deserve!”
Gilder, practically on his knees, blindly defends himself.
I continue to uselessly follow Nylmeris’ back, desperately trying to break the bonds. As hard as I rack my brains, the trigger doesn’t budge.
The racket from the weapons becomes sporadic. Without me realising it, Nylmeris has wounded Gilder in several places. He is gasping in his corner, at the mercy of his opponent, who merely humiliates him by pressing his sword to the ground each time he tries to struggle to his feet.
“Miserable troublemaker.” Nylmeris, tired of playing now, pins Gilder’s sword to the ground with his foot.
“Your treacherous deception ripped my beloved Inla from this word, damn you!”
“It was all your fault, despicable Feltu. I should never have allowed someone with your filthy blood to get so close as to… contaminate her.”
“Utter madness… you are raving, when the only truth is that you extinguished the blood of your blood.”
“I spent too long lending my ears to your loathsome squawking. It is not worth the anguish of defending myself from mendacious words.”
“At least allow me a warrior’s death.” Gilder struggles to his feet.
“I will allow you that privilege only for the delight of watching you fall once more.”
Come on, Gilder. Tell me you’ve got one last trick up your sleeve. Something disloyal and unpredictable.
The blonde is one tired mannequin. The sword lies limp, trailing on the floor, but the other one’s boot moves backwards in preparation for the final coup de grâce.
A stab of pride.
The honed ribbon of steel gains speed with some preparatory twirls while he is standing stock still.
A magic trick.
A strange jerk of his body and the sword interrupts its curved trajectory and is magically suspended, perfectly parallel with the floor. It curls up along its blade between the hilt and the point rather like the tip of a drill.
Then, with a sudden twist in an anti-clockwise direction, it darts like a spring towards Gilder’s heart.
The corpse slides softly to the floor, accompanied by an evil laugh.
A flash. Two flashes.
Gun smoke.
After a few moments’ hesitation Nylmeris falls forwards, headlong into the debris of the fight.
Gilder is dead, colonel. The contract is null and void.
I almost enjoy the pain caused by my subsequent sighs of relief.
With one last effort, I stow the Altra away and take out my pistol from its holster. I fire two shots close to the ground before the spasms caused by the recoil makes it slip out of my hands.
I hope Cohl is still alive. If he is, then he heard this for sure.
Particularly because, if he is dead, his gorgeous car will be a pool of congealed blood.
I stay where I am, staring a while at the pictures in the half light and at the dead bodies amongst the ruins of the sitting room.
A genius plan is needed here.
Gods, I would cadge a cigarette off the Pale in person, just to get a smoke.
Time to get a move on
“Cohl, thank heavens for that! I’d kiss you if I could move.”
Instead of rushing towards me, he smiles and calmly inspects the house.
“Ah! I don’t believe it… you have killed the colonel. You? I’ve seen it all now…”
“What the fuck? Give me—“ I freeze.
New car. New mobile. Can’t find Gilder’s file. Insists on carrying out the arrests himself. I drove around for most of the day to make sure I wasn’t being tailed and Nylmeris finds us just like that.
We were the only ones who knew; me, Mr Super-endowed, and this double-crossing bastard. I am such a fuckwit.
Nohl kicks the gun away from me, bends his knees so he is in a squatting position, and mockingly lights up a cigarette.
“You know,” he speaks in the tone of someone who’s telling an amusing anecdote about the local supermarket, “when you turned up on my crime scene, I thought to myself ‘okay, he’s a pain, but I don’t want to kill a cousin just because he’s trying to do his job’. Everything was so easy, before the ‘great Arkham’ appeared: all I had to do was arrive on the scene, find the two corpses and close the cases. I have to say, at the beginning, I was worried you’d work it out for yourself, considering your reputation.”
“How much did they pay you?”
“Sixty thousand to start with, and they promised to give me other jobs if this one went smoothly.”
“Sixty? Shit, I must have a word with my trade union rep. I’ve done my fair share of bad stuff for the elves, but they’ve never paid me so much.”
“Wait, it gets better.” He holds his hand up. “When you started to dig around, Valan got edgy. So he coughed up ten grand every day so I would keep him up-to-date with your movements. Can you believe it? I immediately paid off the loan for my car, as if I’d bought any old runabout.”
He’s enjoying himself and takes another drag on his cigarette. I don’t say a word.
“Well then, you owe me one. How’s about giving me a drag?
“Of course, why not? If you can’t move, how did you manage to shoot him?” Pointing at the killer elf’s dead body.
“I can move, but it’s agony. It’s even worse than listening to your bollocks.”
“Ah.” He likes this even more and passes me the nicotine. “What the hell, I’m not so cruel as to deny a condemned man his last cigarette.” He lets me finish it and then he lights himself a second one.
There’s no way I can kill him in these conditions, despite the quick draw. He can dodge and I can’t follow him. Of course, that’s if I don’t drop the gun before I manage to shoot. Secretly, I move my thumb, to be sure about the development of the spell. This movement causes a slight prickling feeling, the paralysis has nearly gone. I just need a few minutes. Fucking hell, dying is all part of the game, but not because of him. No way.
“You fucked me over good and proper, kid. Congratulations.”
“It wasn’t hard. You’re so very arrogant, so boorish. You go around treating everybody like shit, and why? Oh, because you’re Lieutenant Arkham from the Guard,” he says in a sing-song voice, “a real hard man, the world champion, isn’t that right? You know it all, you’ve done it all, the world would stop spinning without you, wouldn’t it? The only reason you aren’t lord of the universe is because everybody is jealous of you.”
“No, no. It all sounds quite accurate.”
“A loudmouth right to the end, marvellous. Unluckily for you, I’ve got some news. I am better than you. Father bastard, you’re nothing but a conceited wreck, ready for the scrapheap.”
“Oh. A swearword. So the story about being a reformed dualist was all horseshit?”
“Hahaha, that,” he cackles. “So funny. I had to encourage you in thinking I was a complete dickhead, and what better than a prudish cop to stimulate your compilation of hang ups? Oh, by the way, thanks for the sketch at the restaurant. It was really hard to keep a straight face afterwards. I was pushing it a bit with that bollocks about the parishioners, but I had to see how stupid you actually were. And you totally fell for it!”
“Very well played, kid.” My toes are still prickly, I’m not ready. “I didn’t suspect a thing until you walked through the door. Just out of curiosity, out of everything you told me, what was true?”
Come on, I know you can’t wait to have a good gloat.
“I come from Frosgaarde, and I used to work at customs. The kickbacks weren’t too shabby but everyone knows that the big boys play at Nectropis. I let some shipments from Ogre territory through, and my friends were extremely grateful. I didn’t hesitate when they offered me the transfer, which came after a hefty advance.”
Another quick nicotine break, interrupted by the arching of one eyebrow, signalling the arrival of a sudden thought.
“You are right about one thing though. The city is a huge pile of steaming shit, and like all heaps of manure, it is a source of joy for tiny repugnant creatures, who base their very existence on other people’s shit. You are one of those beetles, what are they called now…” He snaps his fingers a few times to retrieve the word from his memory and transfer it to his lips. “Dung beetles, yeah. You spend your life rolling and pushing a ball of shit, you try to take it back to your hole in the ground, but it rolls back down the hill, like what happened to that Ofisis guy in mythology. If so far you’ve managed to dodge the foot of your maker, it’s because you are the luckiest cockroach I’ve ever met.”
“Sorry, but doesn’t the fact that you’ve replaced me make you a cockroach, too?” I’m banking on a long, scornful opposing argument.
“You’re funny for a corpse. For starters, I’m not a washed-up junkie with a vacuum-cleaner where my nose should be. What, did you think I didn’t know? Just look at yourself, you keep on sniffing when there’s nothing there to snort.”
“Yeah. Now that I think about it, I reckon I should turn over a new leaf.”
“Secondly, I won’t be so stupid as to throw away the mountains of money I get from gambling, or even worse, let myself go to rack and ruin because I’ve got a crush on some tart.”
This cheap shot hits a nerve and takes me by surprise.
“What’s wrong, didn’t you expect that? I did my homework when you barged into my life. I suppose that it’s inevitable in the long run. Anyway, our employers told me more or less everything there is to know about you.”
“What? You work for the Feltu’s?” I am genuinely confused now.
“Hahaha. So you hadn’t realised that either? You’re such a retard.”
“Where’s the sense in that?”
“Rules.” He shrugs his shoulders. “There are ancient agreements between the dynasties. If someone makes a mistake, the relatives have to sort it out. Basically, the Lovl family should have seen to Inla, and the Feltu family, Gilder.”
“Then why did Nylmeris come instead of one of them?”
“The colonel took it personally. He asked if he could eliminate them both, claiming he felt responsible for what had happened. To tell you the truth, I think he threatened to kill anyone who got in the way, in any case it doesn’t make much difference. Mr Lonadir—do you know him by any chance?—he decided to spread a ‘safety net’ all the same, in case something went wrong.”
“Good old Lonny.”
“Precisely. As soon as he got wind of the fact that you were involved, too, he promised me your position in the Guard on condition that, on completion of the job, I got rid of you once and for all. That old donkey really can’t stand your guts, did you know? When he found out who the real killer was, he decided to wipe you out immediately. By the way, could you explain to me how you did that?”
“So then Ugube works for the Feltu’s?”
“He’s co-owned, as far as I know. So, how did you do it?”
“I summoned Inla’s spirit.”
He claps his hands sarcastically, then stubs his cigarette out on the floor.
“Right. What happens now?”
“I’m going to shoot you with your gun, I’ll put the blonde’s prints on it and burn that fucking book. I’
ll get promoted, I’ll get paid, I’ll do a few more years’ service and then, when I get to your age, I’ll be on a long white beach in the south, getting myself a nice tan after I’ve knocked ten years off the way I look.”
“Nice plan. It would be hilarious if they gave you my job. I can almost see Reinart sticking a school bus up your arse now. Obviously, that’s not the way it’ll all pan out, what a shame…”
“Huh?”
“You’re so smart and you don’t get it? Anyone who touches that book and doesn’t have pointy ears on either side of his head dies, wanker.”
“Oh really, and you think I didn’t know that? There is a wonderful oblivion potion waiting for me at the Feltu’Atheron tower. I’ll be so sorry to forget our beautiful friendship.”
I’ve run out of things to talk about to play for time, in fact, this idiot has even talked too much, but I can feel that the spell still hasn’t worn off completely. I’m going to have to die. Shit.
“Let’s get this over with once and for all.”
“Just one last thing before you go. I want to know what your first name is.”
A glimmer of hope!
“What do you care? You’ll forget it anyway.”
“Good observation.” He thinks about it. “I’ll write it down.”
“I’ll never tell you. I’m not going to give you that satisfaction.”
He shrugs his shoulders and smiles.
“Never mind. Do you know what I’m going to do? I’m going to have a look at that nice badge you’ve got on your belt. Can you pass it to me? Oh sorry, you can’t move, how silly of me, hahaha.”
He leans over me, pushes my jacket open, but he can’t find my badge.
“Where is it?”
“I’m only going to tell you so I can put an end to this gay moment we’ve got going here. It’s in the inside pocket.”
“Thanks for your help. You know, I don’t like being so close to you either. You stink.”
He leans over to look. Both hands are busy.
With the little willpower I’ve got left, I ignore the pain. My hand is still lying in my lap. The Altra materialises in my grip, Cohl opens his mouths and widens his eyes. I grimace as I turn the weapon towards him, partially due to the effect of the magic and also out of pure hate. That instant of surprise costs him his life.
Lieutenant Arkham: Elves and Bullets Page 26