A Pest Most Fiendish

by Caighlan Smith

  “Indeed, that’s quite curious—which bend?!”

  “The one behind you, and they’re getting closer.”

  Pippa scrambled to her feet. “Scan for the lichfiend while I distract the revenants.”

  “The database doesn’t include a lichfiend’s heat pattern.”

  “Then scan for an anomaly! I’m running now, Glenda!”

  True to her word, Pippa took off down the tunnel. She could hear the revenants shambling much too quickly behind her. But “shambling” wasn’t really the word. No, Pippa would argue, were they not revenants, the monsters’ movements could certainly be described as “running”. But revenants could not run, only shamble—even the database knew that much.

  Upon losing the revenants, an out of breath Pippa slumped against the tunnel wall. She didn’t fully slump, of course, for that would require leaning her petticoat-clad person on a very wet and likely stain-inducing surface. As it were, Pippa crouched, and caught her breath.

  Once slightly less winded, Pippa pulled out her E-Pistol—one of two revolvers on her person, neither of which fired bullets of the gunpowder variety. Her E-Pistol shot messages, and at present she was in need of communicating with her automated companion. Before Pippa could do so, she heard the shambling of revenants again. Pippa hesitated to flee when she realized the shambling was coming no closer. If anything, the sound seemed isolated to the one spot, around the corner.

  Returning the E-Pistol to her belt and pulling out her other revolver, the Catch 22, Pippa edged down the tunnel. At the corner, she saw a mass of revenants trying to squeeze through a hole in the cavern wall, which appeared to lead to a tiny alcove. From the alcove, Pippa could hear faint sobbing. Revenants did not sob. Nor, to Pippa’s knowledge, did the moles and other like rodents that frequented caverns such as this one.

  Pippa stepped full round the corner and raised her pistol. “Jolly good evening, gents!”

  The revenants turned and began shambling—no, this was certainly running—towards Pippa. She squeezed the trigger of her revolver and a net shot from its mouth. The revenants tangled in the net as its weighted, clawed ends dug into the ground, trapping the creatures on their backs. The revenants continued to reach for Pippa through the loops of the net, their mouths foaming.

  “Your servant,” Pippa said, tipping her invisible hat to them as she passed. Crouching in front of the alcove, Pippa pressed her spyglass to her eye and peered in. What met her gaze was another eye, its horror and size amplified tenfold by her spyglass. Pippa lowered the device and found herself face to face with a youth of around eighteen. A scrawny boy, with not a scratch of hair on his chin, but plenty tangled on his head. He was dressed in patchwork overalls, half held round his skinny waist by a clunky work belt.

  “Your eyes,” Pippa said. “Would you call them hazel or green?”

  The boy gaped at her, his bony shoulders shaking.

  “Perhaps you’re not the best to say. It’s hard to judge one’s own eyes, isn’t it? What colour does your mum say?”

  “Um, hazel?”

  “Hazel.” Pippa nodded to herself, then stuck her hand into the alcove. “Your servant, Mr Hazel. My name is Philippa Kennedy Kipling. Your employer, I believe, has hired my companion and me to tidy up his little mess.”

  The boy stared at Pippa’s hand for a good minute more before taking it. His shake was hesitant, so Pippa had to put some elbow grease into it on her end. When they’d had quite enough of that, Pippa hauled the boy out of the alcove. He squeaked and tried to pry his hand from hers.

  “No, no, Miss Kipling! I’m much safer in here, and you would be too!”

  “Nonsense! I’ve quite handled the revenants. Er, quite nearly.”

  Releasing the boy, Pippa unbuckled the giant mallet strapped to her back. Affirming her grip on its two-foot steel handle, Pippa gave the boy a reassuring grin. “Just a tick, Mr Hazel.”

  “Wait!” he called, when Pippa advanced on the trapped revenants. “Please, Miss Kipling, they’re my friends!”

  “I’m sorry, Mr Hazel, but they’re empty husks now. Quite soulless, I’m afraid.”

  Pippa turned back to the revenants, but the boy’s voice cut through the mist: “No!”

  Sighing, Pippa laid her mallet against the cavern wall. With a voice like that, the boy could have the whole horde on them in moments. She’d best take the sensitive approach.

  Pippa pulled out a vial of purple powder and held it up to the boy. “See this, Mr Hazel?”

  “A drug? Isn’t that illegal?”

  “You’re confused, and it’s no wonder when one looks at the situation in which you find yourself. This is simply a hallucinogen.”

  “But, Miss Kipling, that’s a drug.”

  “No, no, Mr Hazel. It’s a tactical aid approved for pest control undertaken by certified Magistrate workers. Quite legal.” Pippa uncorked the vial and sprinkled the contents over the squirming revenants. “Now you see, Mr Hazel, were there souls still attached to your friends—that is, were your friends more than undead, soulless minions—this very fine powder would induce in them hallucinations of their loved ones. Revenants do not have loved ones, or any means to love or think, ergo your friends have become the aforementioned revenants.”

  “But Miss Kipling, look.”

  So Pippa did. The revenants had stopped reaching for her, and instead reached blindly into the distance, as if seeing something. Garbled sounds, almost resembling words, slipped from their spit-soaked lips. Their glazed eyes were filled with longing. Some of them were crying.

  “Well, blast.” Pippa yanked out her E-Pistol and fired it at the ceiling. The boy squeaked at the sound, then stared in amazement as a little clockwork bird shot out of the pistol’s gaping mouth. The bird spread its iron wings and flapped them humming-beat swift over to Pippa.

  Pippa said, “Do tell the Porter the revenants aren’t exactly revenants. Rather, it would appear the lichfiend hasn’t yet devoured their souls and is instead hoarding them. It would also appear this won’t be as simple as displacing the lichfiend to a secure location. Let’s try to keep the not-revenants breathing long enough to get them their souls back. No headshots.”

  Once finished, Pippa waved the little bird away and it flitted off down the tunnel. She grabbed her mallet and said to the boy, “I’m terribly afraid you’ve just been signed up for a potentially fatal field trip. You see, I did quite a bit of running and I’m not exactly sure how to get you out from here. Just stay out of swinging range, yes? And do try not to get your soul sucked.”

  The boy was rather pale and moon-eyed by the time Pippa was done, but she wrote that off as a natural look. Mallet in one hand and Catch 22 in the other, Pippa headed down the tunnel. She hadn’t a clue where the lichfiend might be, let alone what it looked like, so she figured she’d just go around trapping not-revenants until she happened upon something pestish.

  After shooting down another batch of revenants, Pippa said, “How did you happen to keep hold of your soul, Mr Hazel?”

  “I don’t know. I wasn’t aware I was at risk of losing it, until you said so.”

  “Oh, Mr Hazel, you’re always at risk of losing your soul. It’s just that some pests tease it out a bit more obviously than others. Say, do you use any perfume? Cologne?”

  “Um, no?”

  “What of the necklace you’re wearing?” Pippa indicated the strap poking out of the boy’s collar.

  “Ah! I’d forgotten. It’s a gift from my granny.”

  Pippa paused to inspect the necklace as the boy pulled it from his shirt. A flat, stone disk on a simple leather cord. Pippa pulled out her spyglass and held it so close to the stone the two nearly scratched each other. Lowering the spyglass, Pippa sniffed the stone.

  “Miss Kipling?”

  “Is your granny a hedge-witch?”

  “No, she’s a pawnbroker. She likes me to wear her newer items, to advertise.”

  Pippa tapped the stone at its centre. “This advertisement has saved y
our soul, Mr Hazel.”

  The bird returned to them one tunnel later. It perched on Pippa’s shoulder and stuck its beak in her ear, reciting the Porter’s recorded reply.

  “Yes,” Pippa said testily, “tell her I know that. I’m not naive. And even if I were, it’s a rather obvious outcome.”

  “Is something wrong, Miss Kipling?”

  “Oh, it’s only that my companion thinks I’m not aware that there may be no chance to save your friends, as their souls may simply disappear along with the lichfiend once we’ve disposed of it.”

  “Pray tell, Miss Kipling, but what is a lichfiend?”

  “I’ve not the foggiest, Mr Hazel. Akin to a lantern leafling, I’d imagine, minus the leaves. And the lantern.”

  “Certainly not something so repulsive as that. The revenants are bad enough.”

  “You’re acquainted with the leaflings?” Pippa exclaimed. To the clockwork bird, she said, “Do tell the Porter I’ve uncovered my definite source to the existence of lantern leaflings.”

  The bird flitted off and the boy asked, “What now, Miss Kipling?”

  “Now we reconvene with my companion. She’s discovered an underground cavern within the cavern, where she believes the lichfiend to be nesting. Naturally, Mr Hazel, you may stay at a safe distance while we confront the creature.”

  “How will you confront it, Miss Kipling?”

  “Cannon-fire, Mr Hazel.”

  “Cannon-fire? Why, Miss Kipling, however will you get a cannon all the way down here?”

  “What a silly question. How and however have nothing to do with getting cannons places. The cannon must simply always be.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand, Miss Kipling.”

  “That is because—and I do not mean to be frank, Mr Hazel—you’ve no experience in the controlling of pests.”

  “Why is it that you call them pests, Miss Kipling? Aren’t they just monsters?”

  “Oh, pests are more than monsters, Mr Hazel. They’re Predators: Evolved Slaughtering Terminals. In other words, they are monsters our industrialization has evolved past pure monstrosity. As we destroy the land to create another more to our liking, we create destroyers that are not at all to our liking. ‘Pests’, the Magistrate calls them.”

  “I see. Thank you, Miss Kipling. That makes much more sense.”

  “I’m surprised your granny never explained the term. I thought it common knowledge.”

  “I come from a quite remote settlement, Miss Kipling. The few visitors we get would be inclined to describe it as deserted.”

  “I didn’t figure you for a bumpkin, Mr Hazel. You speak so smartly.”

  “Thank you, Miss Kipling. I’ve learned much from my friends.”

  “As have I, Mr Hazel. As have I.”

  They came across the underground cavern not long after this. The cavern was divided by a wide, gushing river, which glowed a vivid aquamarine. There was a waterfall on the other side of the cavern, descending from a high, shadowy tunnel. A frothy mist coated the cavern.

  “It appears revenant-free,” Pippa said, sweeping her spyglass throughout the cavern.

  “Where’s the lichfiend?”

  “Behind the waterfall, I’d venture to say. The spray is an ideal cover for the mist it creates, should it ever need to hide.”

  As they walked along the river, Pippa pulled a vial out of her petticoat and tossed half its contents into the air in front of her. She kept her eyes on the fine white powder as it floated slowly around her. Walking through it, she said over her shoulder, “Do try not to breathe on any of it, Mr Hazel.”

  “Why not, Miss Kipling?”

  “Because I’m afraid it shall most certainly give you away.”

  As she said this, the powder swirling around the boy’s head crystallized into little blue pellets that peppered his shoulders. The rest of the powder remained white, unaffected by the waterfall’s natural mist.

  The boy cocked his head to the side, his boyish terror replaced by a cool confidence. “You fancy yourself terribly clever, Miss Kipling?”

  “Terribly so, Mr Lichfiend. You see, even if the Porter hadn’t picked up your bizarre heat signal adjacent to my own very human heat signal, you know of lantern leaflings. That clinched it for me.”

  “To compare me to those urchins was quite rude, Miss Kipling.”

  “My apologies, Mr Lichfiend, but one might argue that sucking out the souls of innocent manual labourers is equally, if not more, rude.”

  “Alas, I’m not one for debates.” The lichfiend closed his eyes with a sound that started out a sigh, and ended in a sort of moan. The mist about them began to glow and the lichfiend opened his eyes.

  “Ah,” Pippa said, “that colour, I do know. It’s demonic blue.”

  “I’ll be sucking out your soul now. That annoying perfume of yours will only slow the process, Miss Kipling, not arrest it.”

  “Annoying? You really are rude. But perhaps not as rude as my companion.”

  “Ah. The automaton. Where might it be?”

  “Where might she be, Mr Lichfiend.” Pippa pointed over his shoulder. “This is she.”

  The lichfiend turned just as the Porter, perched on an upper ledge of the cavern, fired her harpoon. The glistening weapon speared the lichfiend right through the stomach. It stumbled backward, right into the swing of Pippa’s mallet.

  “I told you to mind the swing,” Pippa said, as the lichfiend went flying into the river. To the Porter, she called, “that wasn’t so hard, now, was it?”

  “Catch 22,” the Porter replied.

  “You’re joking.” Pippa whirled and fired seconds before the lichfiend pounced on her. It hit the ground hard, struggling against her net. The lichfiend was soaked and still had the Porter’s spear sticking out of its middle. The side of its head had caved in where Pippa had struck, but instead of oozing blood, the wound oozed mist.

  “Not a headshot, then?” Pippa turned and called to the Porter: “Add that to the database!”

  “Vile humans!” the lichfiend shrieked, foam flying through the mist that coiled from its lips. “Vile, vile heartbeaters!”

  “Vial, you said?” Pippa tossed another vial from her petticoat at the lichfiend. It shattered on the ground, spreading a cloud of pink powder.

  The lichfiend started writhing as it shrieked: “No, no, no! Mine, mine, mine!”

  The Porter stepped off her ledge, landed nimbly on the ground, and walked over to Pippa. “What exactly was that supposed to do?”

  “Ah, now that was a lovely little exorcism blend I got for half-off at the market. It should have made this glutton regurgitate all those souls.”

  “Perhaps there was a reason it was half-off.” The Porter grabbed her spear and jerked it free from the lichfiend. The lichfiend hissed at her as mist coiled from the hole in its stomach, the hole which had already begun knitting itself shut. “Any other ideas?”

  “Certainly. That talisman it’s wearing is keeping it corporeal. If it hasn’t removed it by now, clearly it would like to stay corporeal. Shall we upset it?”

  “Be my guest,” the Porter said.

  The lichfiend started cackling as Pippa raised her mallet. “Silly, silly waif! Crush me, stab me, drown me—it won’t do any good! This talisman is impenetrable and so long as it’s intact, so am I!”

  “I’m not trying to pierce your talisman, I’m trying to blow it up.”

  “With your cannon?!” the lichfiend laughed.

  “Yes.” Pippa pressed a button on the handle of her mallet. “With my cannon.”

  The face of the mallet opened to reveal a glowing, fiery centre, getting brighter by the second.

  The lichfiend blanched. “You have a cannon in your mallet?”

  “Is there any reason not to?” Pippa tugged on the goggles resting round her neck and fired.

  The lichfiend shrieked the second before it, and its talisman, were covered by blinding light. When the explosion cleared, there was a five-meter hole in th
e ground. The lichfiend and its talisman had quite disappeared. Pippa immediately uncorked another vial and tossed a handful of purple powder into the air. The powder clung to something, which started writhing uncontrollably, as if trying to shake the powder free.

  “You’re not getting rid of that,” Pippa said. “It’s a little guarantee you won’t be taking corporeal form for a good long while. Itches mighty awful, doesn’t it?”

  The powder whizzed about angrily.

  “Yes, purple definitely suits you more than hazel. Get out of here, then, before I bring out my metaphysical cannon.”

  The powder zipped away, disappearing into the mist of the waterfall.

  “Are you sure about letting it go?” the Porter asked.

  “It can’t cause any trouble in that form. If it could, it would have ditched the talisman to fight us. Besides,” Pippa said, out of the side of her mouth, “I don’t actually have a metaphysical cannon.”

  “I know, Miss Kipling.”

  “Yet. I don’t have one yet.”

  The Porter sighed. “Let’s check on the pseudo-revenants.”

  Sure enough, what they found squirming under the nets in the tunnels were not revenants, of the fake nor real variety, but, indeed, very confused workers. As they began freeing them, a thought occurred to Pippa, but she waited until the workers were well on their way before speaking to the Porter.

  “Where do you suppose the lichfiend got its talisman?”

  “I’m guessing you care very little about what I suppose, and rather there’s something you suppose.”

  “Rather there is,” Pippa murmured. “The lichfiend knew you were an automaton, without my having said so. Also, there was a funny smell coming off its talisman. Faint, but present nonetheless, and I’ve an idea about its origin. Not even a foggy idea, nor misty, as it were.”

  After seeing the workers out of the tunnel, and back up the precarious path—there were only four near-fatal falls—Pippa and the Porter were met by Mr Bradbury.

  “You have my deepest gratitude, Miss Kipling, Ms the Porter. Whatever was it that stole away my workers?”