The Ways of Khrem

by D. Nathan Hilliard

“All I did,” I sighed, “was pull a kid out of a hole.”

  “At great peril to yourself,” he added. “I seem to remember you swearing you would never go into the Undercity again.”

  “That wasn’t the Undercity, Captain. I thought it might have been for a little bit while I was down there, but I realize now it wasn’t. It was too clean. No cobwebs, no broken ceiling bits on the floor, no tracks or small animal bones…none of the things you would find in the tunnels of the Undercity.”

  “Then,” the Captain frowned, “it was just a cistern that had somehow gotten invaded by the ocean?”

  “No, Captain, it wasn’t that either. That wouldn’t explain the post with the ring in it.”

  “So you’re saying…”

  “I’m saying the boy had fallen into somebody’s basement, so to speak. Somebody who maintained a little underground grotto, and fed their pet from time to time. And the way they did it was by tying something alive to that post, and then setting a lantern or torch out to attract the creature. That’s why the boy was still alive when I got down there. Holik didn’t have any source of light to attract the monster. It was only after I got down there the thing came out of the pool. The boy must have attracted it when he fell in and splashed around, but he had gotten out of the pool before it arrived. Then the kid probably saw it stick its head up to see what that new light was coming from the ceiling.”

  “But who…”

  “There is no way to know, Captain. It could be anybody on this hill. All I can tell you is somebody here has a basement that goes deeper than others. Why they keep the thing, or what they use it for? Your guess is as good as mine.”

  “I just wish I knew who would want such a thing.”

  “The only way to have found out would have been to go back down there, open that door, and see where it led. And who is going to do it? Not me. Besides, Harlo Solitos covered the hole with bricks and filled the pit in. Can’t say as I blame him, what with having kids back there and all.”

  Drayton grimaced while shaking his head resignedly.

  I actually understood how he felt.

  It made me a little uncomfortable knowing the place, and that creature, lay buried right down the hill from me. One of my neighbors on Klyburn Hill had a secret, and I wondered what he had been chaining to the post and feeding that secret.

  And why?

  Unfortunately, there were well over forty other houses on this side of Klyburn Hill, which is a lot of neighbors to wonder about, especially since I didn’t even know the vast majority of them.

  “Sir?” Grabel came out onto the patio and interrupted my musing. Holding up a card he read, “Avelta, the wife of Karlo the Silversmith, wishes to extend her congratulations on your heroic recovery of Holik Solitos.”

  Oh no, not again.

  “And?” I groaned.

  “And it just so happens she has a niece, whom she reports to be of great character and merit, and whom would be delighted to meet you.”

  “Well that’s not a bad thing,” Drayton enthused. “You have obviously improved your standing with your neighbors.”

  “What does that bring the count to now, Grabel?” I inquired with my head now buried in my hands.

  “Three nieces, four sisters, two daughters…and Yarla Koritsa wants you to know her husband is old and could kick off any time now.”

  “Oh my,” Drayton chuckled. “You must have made quite the impression.”

  Oh yeah, when it came to keeping a low profile, I was destined to be the stuff of legend.

  “The life of virtue also has its rewards,” the Captain quoted as he raised his klavet to me in salute.

  With a sigh, I raised my glass to touch the Captain’s.

  I could only hope those rewards were as high as some that would be out on my head, if certain parties ever figured out who I really was. Yet at the same time, I couldn’t help but wonder if the crazy stunt hadn’t already proved itself to be worth the risk. Because somehow, knowing Holik slept safely in his bed down the hill…

  …it let another little boy, who was long dead, rest a little easier in my mind.

  PART THREE:

  THE GHOST OF CANDLEWALK LANE

  Chapter One

  “Maddy, Maddy, candle bright!

  Who are you going to kill tonight?

  Freeze their blood and steal their breath,

  Their hair turned white from kissing death!”

  —Children’s rhyme

  It promised to be a perfect night for having dinner out on my patio.

  The first bright pinpoints were sneaking into the heavens overhead, and the blazing twin evening stars hung low in the west, soon to follow the sun over the horizon. A mild autumn breeze off the Akartic Sea blew the smoke of ten thousand chimneys out and away from the spires and towers of Khrem, leaving the air as clear as a silver chime.

  It shaped up to be what the poet, Karod, referred to as “an evening of jewels.”

  The mellow tones of the Eddos Cathedral’s bell tower floated over the rooftops and up the hill to where I sat admiring the view.

  “Grabel, there are the evening bells. I expect the Captain any time now.”

  “Then I’ll start the mushrooms, sir.”

  He stirred the coals in the large brazier then went back into the house, leaving me to ponder Drayton’s upcoming visit over a goblet of mulled wine.

  Apparently, my civic duty tonight would be acting as advisor for the Captain. It seemed he liked to visit me in the evening when he wanted to consult on something, often sending a courier to let me know of his impending arrival. When he wanted to haul me around town on one of his cases, he usually showed up in the morning without warning. One might almost think he suspected me of trying to avoid those morning jaunts.

  Not without some merit.

  On those outings, Heinryk and Poole would be escorting him and I would have to leave the house with whatever makeshift breakfast I could grab in hand. I far preferred the consultations, since those seldom involved leaving the safety of my home and getting dragged into who knows what kind of mayhem. They could also be done over a civilized dinner, a very important point in their favor from my point of view.

  Grabel returned with a covered clay pot.

  Opening the pot, he started dipping out the large Borigean Forest mushroom caps that had been soaking in a red wine marinade. Laying the mushrooms out on a grill, he then started to fill them with a mixture of grated cheese and minced peppers that he had prepared earlier. A fat hen roasted on a spit above the brazier and a basket of today’s rolls lay warm in a nearby covered basket.

  I was indulging myself in the aromas of the impending meal, and the views of the darkening city, when the gate bell signaled that my company had arrived.

  “And I believe the good Captain is here.”

  Grabel smoothly finished stuffing the last mushroom cap and laid the grill over the coals as he rose and headed indoors. When he wasn’t being insufferable, he made an excellent manservant and a top notch cook. A moment later, I heard the sound of a surprising number of heavy boots ascending the stairs.

  “Captain Drayton,” Grabel intoned, “and associates.”

  Coming to my feet, I saw the Captain had brought Heinryk and Poole with him this evening.

  Heinryk was a tall, grizzled old veteran of a watchman with a scarred face, a missing ear, and eyes that missed nothing. He had, by far, the most experience of the three of them.

  He and Poole were a study in contrasts.

  Take a Granite Peak Gristleneck Gorilla, shave it and then give it even larger muscles and a heavy single eyebrow, and what you will end up with is Poole. A youngster in his early twenties, Poole possessed a lot more intelligence than his appearance suggested. He was actually a rather agreeable fellow, who just happened to inspire agreeableness in others.

  His and Heinryk’s presence did not bode well for dinner.

  “It’s alright, Mr. Cargill,” Drayton reassured, as if reading my thoughts. “We aren’
t dragging you off into the night. I just brought Heinryk and Poole along because I wanted the four of us to put our heads together on this one from the start.”

  Although unusual, that suited me just fine.

  With lifted spirits, I ordered Grabel to make arrangements for two more for dinner.

  Wearing a look of exquisite suffering, my manservant returned to the house to fetch a wheel of red wine cheese to add volume to the meal and accommodate the extra guests. There would be no feasting on the leftovers for him tonight. I kept a well-stocked larder, so I didn’t pity him—especially since I knew he would secretly cook himself something even nicer later for revenge.

  Even so, he would still find ways to grouse about it all week.

  Oh well, he always remained efficient, whatever his mood. Returning with the wheel of cheese, he portioned out the meal with swift precision.

  Heinryk and Poole held up the mushrooms Grabel had crafted, looked at each other, and then with a shared shrug, started wolfing them down.

  At least they used their knives, so Grabel’s look of mortified horror was probably a bit unnecessary.

  “You gotta admit,” Poole enthused while holding up a speared mushroom on his knife, “for something that you find growing out of cow plops in the pasture, these things are pretty damned good.”

  “Yep,” Heinryk grunted around a mouthful. “Depends on the cow, though. Some cows crap out better manure than others, so they have specially bred cows just for the more expensive mushrooms.”

  Standing at the back of the patio, Grabel managed the impressive feat of turning purple with outrage in dignified silence.

  I made a mental note to invite Heinryk and Poole more often.

  “Cows bred just for crapping?” Poole mused. “What will they think of next?”

  “Absolutely. These cows don’t go but once every three or four days, and then they lay out a huge circle of purest, high-grade flop. They say you can hear them a league away when they finally let go. And that’s where they grow those high price mushrooms rich people eat.”

  The Captain ignored the three of them and set to savoring the dinner. With his noble background he had a greater knowledge and appreciation of good food, even if he didn’t indulge in it very often. The mushrooms were indeed very good, and the hen tasted excellent. The cheese and bread rounded out the meal perfectly.

  I followed the Captain’s example and focused on the food.

  In short order we were done, and Grabel fled into the house to fetch a jug of cider and four copper cups.

  Heinryk and Poole were now in an animated discussion about what one feeds a cow who only craps giant pools of high-grade mushroom food.

  When he returned with the jug and cups, I dismissed Grabel for the evening. I imagine he had endured enough. As it was, he was going to be sullen for at least a week.

  “Now, if you two are through tormenting Mr. Cargill’s poor manservant,” the Captain said while pouring a mug full of cider, “let’s have our drinks and get down to business.”

  The two watchmen were the very picture of wounded innocence as they filled their mugs. Heinryk walked over to the patio railing and lit a pipe, while Poole pulled a stool over to the brazier and made himself comfortable next to the glowing coals. I filled my mug last, leaned back into my high backed chair, and nodded to the Captain.

  My curiosity now ran high over this mystery the Captain had been assigned. He had never before started a case by consulting the three of us together. It must be an unusual matter, indeed, for him to have launched it this way.

  The Captain took a drink out of his cup, then looked at us all.

  “Last night,” he began, “Moonstone Maddy took her first victim of the year.”

  His words hung suspended in the crystalline night air. For a second I simply accepted them without understanding their import—just another preamble to another case—then each one struck home like a thunderbolt.

  It couldn’t be.

  Oh Gods, no...not this!

  The meal I just ate turned into bile in my stomach.

  “A fishmonger named Balmir was found huddled in an alley off of Candlewalk Lane,” Drayton continued. “He was raving and his hair had turned snow white. He died soon afterwards without ever regaining his wits.”

  I closed my eyes, making a large effort to keep my face from betraying me. Only the fact I had stopped breathing prevented my breath from shaking. I focused on the sound of the breeze whispering off the trees as it came over the hill, while willing my hands to relax on the wicker hand rests of my chair.

  This was insane. Surely, the Captain wasn’t serious about this.

  Apparently Heinryk agreed.

  “Sir,” he said, after a long draw on his pipe, “I’m not sure what can be done about that. I’m not even sure it falls in our jurisdiction…if this kind of thing even has a jurisdiction.”

  “This has been going on for years, Watchman,” Drayton replied. “It’s time for it to stop. It’s happening on one of our streets, which makes it our jurisdiction.”

  “But, Captain...” Poole started to object.

  “No ‘buts’, gentlemen. This is the case we were given. I know it’s unusual, but I have confidence in our ability to find a solution.”

  “‘Unusual’ don’t cover it.” Heinryk groused.

  As for me, I barely heard them. I was lost inside myself as the past threatened to overwhelm me.

  “Are you going to save me, Cargy?”

  Her voice echoed down a passage of seventeen long years, yet it knifed through me like it had only happened yesterday. It felt like I was drowning. I opened my eyes, to better bring me back to the here and now, and looked from the Captain to the tall watchman leaning on my rail.

  The old veteran didn’t look happy.

  “Captain,” Heinryk stated flatly, “Moonstone Maddy has been dead for seventeen years. I saw what was left of her myself. How are we supposed to arrest a ghost?”

  ***

  Silence fell on the patio, each of us lost in our own thoughts.

  Poole sat idly, stirring the coals in the brazier, while the Captain leaned back with his hands behind his head and stared at the sky. Heinryk rested his elbows on the railing and glowered out over the city, pipe clenched in his teeth. I sank back into the shadowed recesses of my high-backed chair.

  The sky was now brilliant with stars, but none of us were admiring the view.

  "What about an exorcism?" Poole suddenly asked.

  "It's been tried twice," Heinryk replied. "The Haribbean Sun Priests tried it right after another prostitute recognized her going off in an alley with a victim, about four years after she died. That was when we first found out what was killing the victims every autumn. The second time was about seven years later, and the Order of the Silent March spent a week ringing their bells all along the length of Candlewalk Lane. She took a victim two days after they left. After that, people kind of gave up. Smart people simply learned that you went whoring somewhere other than Candlewalk Lane between the tenth and eleventh moon in autumn—but she still gets one or two a year."

  "Why, though?" Drayton addressed the stars overhead. "She has to be doing this for a reason."

  "Captain, you didn't see what was done to her," Heinryk growled through clenched teeth, "or those other girls that same piece of filth got to.”

  I didn’t want to hear this again. Not after all this time. I didn’t want to picture it, because if I did, it would be her I would picture.

  “The City Criers called him ‘The Cordwood Killer,’” Heinryk recalled. “Moonstone Maddy was his fourth victim. He either lured her into an alley off of Candlewalk Lane, or ambushed her there. And then he dismembered her. He cut off her arms and legs, cut her torso in half at the waist, and then hacked off her head. He then stacked her against a nearby wall like a bundle of firewood, with her head sitting upright on top…just like he did with the others.”

  “Did you guys catch him?” Poole asked softly.

  “
Not even close,” Heinryk spat. “He killed five prostitutes on Candlewalk Lane one autumn, and then just stopped. Not another sign of him. People were scared for a little while, but after a couple of months they started to forget and life went on.”

  “Any leads?” Drayton asked.

  “Leads?” the old watchman repeated with a bitter chuckle. “Leads require some form of investigation. You know better than that, Captain. I started asking around a little, just to find out if the dead girls had any clients in common, and I got reprimanded by my Sergeant for ‘poking my nose in others private affairs while I should be out looking for the killer.’ The Watch increased patrols in the area for a while, but when it was obvious the killer was gone, things returned to normal and the Watch patted itself on the back for a job well done. To be honest, if I was Moonstone Maddy, I would be a little put out myself.”

  “She must have been a real hellion when she was alive to carry a grudge this far and for this long,” Poole observed.

  “Actually, she was rather mousey,” I muttered, more to myself than anyone.

  So there hadn’t even been an investigation. I suppose that came as no surprise. A few dead prostitutes weren’t exactly end of the world type stuff. Nobody would miss them, and investigations were something reserved for offenses against the powerful.

  Damn them all.

  “Are you going to save me, Cargy?”

  I had intended to. I just didn’t know how little time remained, and I was too late. And that question had eaten a hole in my soul for seventeen years.

  “You knew Moonstone Maddy?” Poole’s voice startled me back into the present.

  All three watchmen were looking at me.

  “Mr. Cargill,” Drayton said smoothly, “why don’t you unclench your fists, take a big drink of this very good cider you have provided us with, and answer Poole’s question.”

  So much for my fabled self-control.

  After a deep breath, and the deep drink the Captain suggested, I leaned forward and put my elbows on my knees. So I was really going to have to do this. There was no escape. After all these years, here I sat, trying to come to grips with it again.