Songreaver

by Andrew Hunter

  Marla tilted her head, peering into the shallow pipe beneath the drainage hole. She reached inside and pulled out something small, heavy, and coated with filth.

  "Ugh, what is it?" Garrett said.

  Caleb let out a soft, pitiful moan.

  Marla scraped most of the black muck from the object to reveal a stained leather pouch. She hefted it in the palm of her hand, and it jingled a little. She tugged away the rotten cord that held it shut, and looked inside.

  "Oh, my," she said.

  "What?"

  Marla held it out for him to see. The cold gleam of gold coins shone from the open mouth of the bag, a lot of gold coins.

  Caleb sighed, lifting his hand to paw gently at the sack of gold. Marla handed it to him, and he took it.

  Garrett helped Caleb to his feet as Marla picked up the iron grate and returned it to its rightful place. She looked at Garrett questioningly.

  "I think he stole it," Garrett said, "That must have been why he was out past Curfew."

  "Who does it belong to?" Marla asked.

  "I don't know," Garrett said, "There was some guy down in the Lower City that recognized Caleb and tried to beat him up for taking his money. Maybe..."

  Caleb bared his teeth in an angry growl.

  "...or maybe that was the guy who stole it in the first place," Garrett said.

  "What should we do with it?" Marla asked.

  "I don't know," Garrett said, "I guess we could..."

  Caleb clutched the gold tightly to his chest and lurched off in the direction of the street.

  Garrett and Marla looked at each other and then followed him. They followed him for two miles, coming at last to the narrow, steaming lanes of Cookston.

  In the space of only four city blocks, most of the servant class for the Upper City made their homes. Walled in and hidden from the sight of those wealthy enough to employ them, most lived in cramped apartments above the little shops that catered to the needs of those who served others for a living.

  Caleb moved, unheeded, through the crowds of maids and gardeners who made no eye contact and hurried to complete whatever errands took them away from their duties. Garrett and Marla shadowed him, finally catching up to him when he stopped on a busy sidewalk near a line of laundry kettles steaming in the street.

  Garrett sidestepped a man carrying a roll of carpet and then quickly moved to Caleb's side.

  Caleb stood, watching the women drowning laundry in bubbling cauldrons with large wooden paddles.

  "What is it, Caleb?" Garrett asked.

  Caleb clutched the sack of gold against his chest with his left hand. His right hand lifted toward the women at the kettles.

  Garrett followed his line of sight and then gasped. One of the laundry women lifted her oar to push a dirty coat beneath the soapy surface of her kettle. She looked so much like Caleb that she might have been his... "Sister," he whispered.

  Caleb groaned. The zombie lurched forward, his hand outstretched. He took a few shambling steps before he stopped. Caleb put his hand to his face, his pale fingers against his cold lips. A little whimper came from his throat. He stumbled backwards and then fled into the shadows of a nearby alleyway.

  Garrett and Marla followed him into the alleyway, finding him with his forehead pressed against the wall. The gold he clutched in his left fist, his right he pounded against the moldy bricks of the wall.

  Caleb's jaw moved, trying to form words, but only a warbling moan came out.

  "Caleb?" Garrett said, "Is that girl really your sister?"

  Caleb squeezed his eyes shut, his body shaking.

  "It's all right," Garrett whispered, putting his hand on Caleb's shoulder, "It's all right."

  Caleb lurched back from the wall and looked toward the street, his eyes full of sorrow. He held the gold up and looked at it, a horrible groan coming from between his clenched teeth.

  Garrett looked at Marla then back at Caleb. "You want to give her the gold?" he asked.

  Caleb looked at him, making a little mewling noise.

  "Don't worry about it," Garrett said, "I'll give it to her for you."

  Caleb fell silent, with what could have been a look of hope in his eyes. Then he lifted his hand again to his face and groaned.

  Garrett's heart ached for his friend. "You don't want her to know, do you?"

  Caleb's lips twitched into a sort of sad smile.

  "It's all right," Garrett said, "I won't tell her what happened... just that the gold is from you."

  Caleb held the bag out at arm's length, his white fingers creaking as they opened to release the coin pouch into Garrett's hands.

  Garrett smiled and nodded, taking the gold. He looked down at the rotten pouch and frowned. "I think I have something a little better than this," he said.

  Garrett fished around in his satchel until he found the little green velvet pouch that held his writing kit. The seal of Mauravant was embroidered in gold upon it, and it had a little gold-threaded cord to hold it shut. "Perfect!" he whispered. A few moments later, and the contents of the kit were dumped out in the bottom of his bag, and the gold secured inside the new pouch.

  "Wait here," he said.

  Marla smiled and nodded, moving to Caleb's side and placing her hand on his arm.

  Garrett took a deep breath and thought fast as he crossed the street. All he knew was that Caleb's original name had been Kurtz. It sounded like a last name. He'd have to take that chance. He quickly tucked his necromancer's medallion inside the collar of his oilskin smock and put on his best smile.

  "Good day, miss," Garrett said, approaching the girl who looked like Caleb.

  The girl looked up, wiping the dampness from her brow with her forearm as she lowered the handle of her oar. "Yes, sir?"

  "Would your name happen to be Kurtz?" he asked.

  Her eyes narrowed.

  The older woman at her side stood up straight as well, and Garrett saw the family resemblance. "My name's Kurtz," the gray-haired woman said, her voice and face hard, "What do you want?"

  "Ah, yes," Garrett said, scrambling for something to say, "You have a son, do you not?"

  The younger woman's eyes flashed with surprise. "John!" she gasped, "Where is he?"

  "What's happened?" the older woman said. There was no hope in her voice.

  "Oh... John... John is fine," Garrett stammered, "he is..."

  The younger woman gasped with relief her hands at her lips.

  "Is he in trouble?" the older woman asked, struggling to hide the relief on her own face.

  "No, not at all..." Garrett said, "As a matter of fact, he's doing quite well." People were starting to stare now. "Perhaps I could speak with you both... in private?"

  The older woman looked at the younger, and then they set aside their laundry paddles and motioned for Garrett to join them inside the shop.

  In the cool shadows of the laundry house, Mrs. Kurtz looked old and tired, and her daughter looked pale and thin. Years of hard labor weighed heavy upon their faces and frames, and they looked at Garrett with the only hope they had left, that Caleb... John was still alive and well somewhere.

  "Where's he gone?" Mrs. Kurtz said.

  Garrett sucked in a breath and lied again. "He's away in the North, fighting the Chadiri with the army," he said. He flinched at the fear that flashed in their eyes and hastily added, "...ah, that was until recently. He's being transferred south now after their most recent victory."

  "When will he be home?" the sister asked.

  "...not for some time, I'd imagine," Garrett said, "They've made him a captain now, and his duties... you know."

  "A captain?" Mrs. Kurtz said. She stared at Garrett in disbelief.

  "Why would he join the army?" the younger woman asked, "Why didn't he tell us?"

  "From what I understand," Garrett said, "he got into some sort of trouble in the city and had to leave in a hurry."

  The mother snorted with laughter.

  "We have to get word to him that we're all righ
t," the sister said, "He'll be worried about us."

  "Not likely," Mrs. Kurtz said, "John took off runnin' and he ain't lookin' back."

  The younger Miss Kurtz started to argue, but Garrett interrupted.

  "That's not exactly true, Mrs. Kurtz," he said, "You see, John asked us to deliver his combat pay to you."

  "What?" Mrs. Kurtz said.

  Garrett handed her the pouch of gold. "Direct from the temple, with the gratitude of the High Priestess herself," Garrett said.

  Mrs. Kurtz took the pouch and marveled at the sigil of the Worm Mother for a moment before tugging the drawstring open and looking inside. Mrs. Kurtz gasped and put her hand to her mouth. John's sister looked inside as well and began to cry.

  "Your son is a hero," Garrett said, "He wanted you to have that and to know that he did it for you... for both of you."

  Mrs. Kurtz broke into sobs as well, holding her daughter close.

  Garrett smiled, feeling a lump in his throat. He nodded at them and lifted his hand in parting as he stepped away.

  An angry voice called from the back of the shop. "Belorra! What the devil are you doing?"

  A large man in a greasy apron stomped across the wooden floor planks toward the two women. His unshaven face screwed up into a mask of rage. "Who's this now," he demanded, waving a meaty hand at Garrett, "and why aren't you doing the job I pay you for?"

  Garrett's hand went to his satchel, feeling for his essence flask.

  Mrs. Kurtz however interposed her solid body between him and the angry man.

  "You're lucky I don't fire you on the spot for such laziness!" the man shouted, "As it is, I'm gonna be forced to dock yer pay for it! I..."

  "Lucky?" Mrs. Kurtz roared, "You dare call anyone that has to work for you twenty years lucky!"

  The man's face went blank, and he looked suddenly, bewilderingly afraid.

  "You're the lucky one, Mister Branch," she shouted, "Lucky that so many good, solid women pull your weight through this sorry world. You're lucky no one's drowned you in the kettle when you're too drunk to stop 'em!"

  Mr. Branch's eyes bulged.

  "Lucky!" Mrs. Kurtz spat, "You've got no idea..." She grabbed her daughter's hand and dragged her from the shop. She spared Garrett only a nod and an honest, "Thank you," on her way out the door.

  Garrett and Mr. Branch stood together in the doorway and watched them go. The two women paused only long enough to toss their aprons in the laundry kettle before disappearing into the crowd.

  "Well, I'll be..." Mr. Branch gaped. He turned to Garrett and asked, "Who the hell are you?"

  Garrett grinned and touched the trim of his hood. He said nothing as he stepped out into the street.

  He found Caleb and Marla waiting for him in the alleyway. A hint of a smile played on Caleb's bloodless lips.

  Garrett looked at the sky. It was starting to get dark. "Ready to go?" he asked.

  Caleb lifted his hand and laid it on Garrett's shoulder. He let out a grateful groan.

  "Let's go home," Garrett said.

  ****

  "Thanks for helping me find Caleb," Garrett said as he held the attic door open for Marla.

  She stepped out onto the little balcony on the roof of Uncle Tinjin's house and looked up and down the length of Vaaste Street in the pink glow of dusk. She breathed in the cool night air and leaned out over the black iron rail to peer down at the people hurrying past below. "You didn't really need my help, Garrett," she said.

  He joined her at the railing, touching shoulders. "I don't know," he said, "everything just seems... easier when you're around."

  She smiled at him.

  Garrett looked out across the rooftops toward the brooding mass of Mount Padras, looming like a great shadow beyond the gray haze. He struggled for a moment with his doubt, and then he spoke.

  "I want to set Lampwicke free," he said.

  It hung there between them like an accusation. Marla's eyes fell.

  "Garrett... you know there isn't..."

  "No," he interrupted, "I think I've found a way."

  Marla's eyes lifted again, questioning.

  "Have you ever heard of the Songreaver?" he asked.

  Marla looked thoughtful. "He was the human king who took the city from the elves," she said.

  "Yeah," Garrett said, "and I think I know where he's buried... here in the city."

  Marla shook her head. "What does this have to do with your fairy?" she asked.

  "I think he knew a way to break spells, like the one you used to keep Lampwicke in her cage," Garrett said, turning to face her as he stepped away from the rail.

  "And you think the secret was buried with him?"

  "Yeah... maybe," he said, "Anyway, if there's a chance that it was... I've got to try."

  Marla stepped back, her hands folded together. "Garrett," she said, "the Songreaver was a terrible person. He killed thousands of people. Why would you want to be anything like him?"

  "Just because he used magic to do bad stuff, doesn't mean that the magic is bad!" Garrett said, "Maybe if he'd been a good person, he would have used that magic to help people."

  "Garrett, if he's been buried this long, and no one has ever found his secrets, isn't it possible that either they are lost forever... or that they are too dangerous to seek out?"

  "Or maybe the secret is just waiting for someone to look in the right place," Garrett said.

  "And you think you know where to look?" she asked.

  Garrett forced a smile. "Maybe," he said, "there's just one problem... I have to find a way to get down a really deep hole... I mean really deep."

  Marla pursed her lips. "Is it more than fifteen hundred feet deep?" she asked.

  "I dunno, why?" Garrett said.

  "Because that's all the rope that Mother and I carry in our climbing kits," she said.

  "You have climbing kits?" Garrett said.

  Marla nodded. "You have to climb to reach the roosting ledges of the Lambent Cliffdarter," she said, "They weave their nests of an essence-infused mucus that will glow vibrantly for many years. The colors vary, depending on the atmospheric conditions during the mating season. Mother and I collect the old nests to be woven into thread or boiled for soup. The Zhadeen think it promotes longevity."

  "Mucus soup?" Garrett gagged, "Does it really make you live longer?"

  Marla shrugged. "I don't know," she said, "but they are willing to pay quite a lot in the hopes that it does."

  "What does it taste like?"

  "I'm told that it is very salty," she said.

  "Wait, so you can help me climb down the hole and have a look around?" Garrett asked.

  Marla smiled. "I'd love to," she said.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The sound of clattering essence flasks echoed from the walls of the subterranean roundhouse. Warren, Scupp, and Diggs all wore bandoliers of essence canisters across their shaggy chests. Diggs wore two. Garrett had settled for a rugged backpack, containing two flasks of essence, a water skin, three torches, and the leather-bound kit of tomb-robbing tools that Cenick had given him years ago. He had foregone his usual robes in favor of the sturdy tunic and leggings that Marla had suggested but insisted on wearing a thick woolen hood.

  Marla frowned when she saw it.

  "In case it's cold down there," he said.

  She rolled her eyes as she continued to unpack the three long spools of black rope that she had brought down with her. She pulled a tangled mass of straps and buckles from her stained duffle bag as well. A number of small glowing blue beetles crawled out of the bag as she did. "I guess it's been a while since we used this," she said.

  "Do you think it will still hold our weight?" Warren asked.

  Marla shrugged. "It will hold mine," she said.

  "That's very reassuring!" Warren grumbled.

  Marla grinned. "It's fine, Warren," she said, "Mother and I once used this rope to haul a dead cave troll to the surface... well, most of him anyway. His glands were still intact. I wou
ld guess that the body weighed at least as much as you and Diggs together."

  "Did you tell your mom what we were doing?" Garrett asked.

  "I told her that I was giving you climbing lessons," Marla said, "I left out the part about robbing the tomb of a long-dead tyrannical madman, but she does know our entry point, so, if we're gone for too long, she'll send help."

  "Oh, that's good," Garrett said, trying to sound like he meant it. He hoped the other vampires wouldn't become involved in any of this.

  Marla finished emptying the bag and frowned. "I thought we had more spare harnesses," she said, "I only have three in total. Even if I go without, one of you will have to stay behind."

  Diggs made a sputtering noise. "I don't need one!" he said, "Ghouls is natural climbers."

  Scupp scowled at her brother. "I'll take one," she said.

  Marla smiled and crossed the floor to help fit Scupp into one of the leather harnesses. The fit proved a bit tight, but Scupp was able to squeeze her lean frame into it.

  Warren eyed the harness with distaste. "You got anything a bit... larger?" he asked.

  Marla sighed, holding up a harness in front of her. "They're sized for my mother and I. If we had more time, I could have something made."

  Warren shook his head. "No thanks," he said, "I can climb pretty well without any help."

  She carried the harness to where Garrett stood and instructed him to take off his backpack and stand with his arms out and legs slightly apart. He held his breath as she cinched the straps tightly around his chest and hips, and let it out with a nervous giggle when she looped two of the straps between his legs and tightened them into place. She tugged at the metal rings on the front of the harness and seemed pleased with the fit.

  "I guess I'll use the last one," she said, looking at the male ghouls, "if you're really sure you don't want to try it."

  Diggs shrugged. "Warren says this pit is bottomless," he said, "so, if we fall, we should just come out on the other side of the world, right?"

  Scupp stared at him, incredulously.

  "Ah... I don't think it works that way," Marla said.

  "Whatever. Let's go. I'm bored," Diggs said.

  Marla pulled off her gray poncho, revealing her close-fitting black leather garb beneath. She stepped through the straps of her own harness and pulled the buckles tight. "Garrett," she said, "can you help me with the back?" She turned her back to him and lifted her hair with one hand, using her other thumb to indicate a set of buckles along her spine that needed tightening.