by David Cook
"Wit-even in the face of defeat!" the noble kin croaked out through gasps of air. A tear moistened his cheek. "It is one of your most pointlessly admirable traits, dear Janol.
"But know this, cousin," he added as his fit subsided, "you've made a bad choice of stars to set your fate by. Bors will never be king. Should it be Throdus or should it be I, we'll pluck you from our scalp like the flea you are. Now begone. You no longer amuse me."
At another wave, the courtiers closed back in again. The audience was over. Pinch snaked through the chambers, brushing away the insignificants who wanted to talk to him, and returned to his rooms. There the magnificently overstuffed featherbed welcomed him with outstretched pillows. Pinch collapsed into it like a sailor drowning in the arms of the sea.
"Sprite, you here?" he asked as he lay staring at the canopy.
"Aye, Pinch," came the halfling's nasal voice in answer.
"Any troubles?"
"Getting in? No-slipped in behind you and you didn't notice," Sprite bragged. "You're getting almost as bad as those guards, blind as posts. It was an easy walk."
Pinch smiled where he lay. It was true, the halfling had managed to evade him completely. "What about out?"
"I can crack the door and slip behind their backs without notice," the little sneak answered with great confidence. "Like I said, blind as posts."
Pinch closed his eyes and felt the abandonment of sleep flowing over him. "Excellent, my friend. Now, get out of here and see that the others are ready, then be back. The meeting's tonight. Be ready to follow me when we leave. Don't fail me on this one, Sprite. I've got the feeling that this one could be my neck. Do you sense it?"
"Aye, Pinch. The fur of my feet's quivering," drifted in the halfling's reply, and then there was darkness.
The scrape of stone on stone alerted Pinch and he sprang out of bed, still fully dressed, with the expectation of constables pouring through the door. There were no constables, no bed in a cheap stew, no laughter of harlots down the hall, only the warm night air that played over the thick tapestries. In the moment it took to establish his whereabouts, the secret door in the bedroom wall swung open and a sword waveringly emerged from the darkness. Satisfied that no one was lying in wait, Cleedis entered the room, brushing dust and cobwebs from his robes.
"Good," he noted, "you're ready. Let's go."
"Go through there?"
The chamberlain scowled. "Of course. Did you expect me to traipse you through the halls for everyone to see? People would wonder what we were about at such an hour."
If all was right, Sprite was waiting outside for just that signal. Going through the tunnels meant bypassing the halfling and that meant his entire plan was for naught.
"This seems like an ill idea to me. There's things down there, trying to kill me. I say we use the door-I can lose anyone who tries to follow us."
The old man was adamant. "The tunnels-Manferic waits for us there."
"It's too dangerous."
"Nothing will harm us."
"How can you be so sure?" Pinch challenged in feigned anger, his voice rising in hopes that Sprite would hear it through the door. To increase the odds, he strode into the sitting room as if in a restless fury.
"Because I am the chamberlain of the Famisso household, right hand of Manferic the Great, and nothing down there will dare attack me or anyone carrying the privy seal of our lord," Cleedis blustered in exasperation. "Now, end this nonsense and let us go-unless all this is just to hide your own failure. You do have the regalia, don't you?"
The clear suspicion in the lord's voice warned Pinch not to press the issue any further. "Very well," he practically bellowed in his false temper, "we'll go by the tunnels!" Even as he did, he prayed to Mask and any other god who cared to grant Sprite particularly sharp ears.
Gathering up his goods-his well-used short sword, a fine black cloak, and the velvet sack that held his treasure-Pinch followed his guide.
"Close it," the chamberlain grunted as he set a taper to the lantern he'd brought with him. The rogue seized the handle and pulled the heavy wall shut. Just as it was about to close, he slipped the hem of his cloak into the gap so that it dangled like a pennon on the other side. Though it pained him to ruin such fine clothes, Pinch slashed the fabric away before Cleedis was done. He was barely able to manage it, forgetting until that moment that he had only one good hand.
When the sputtering lantern was finally lit, sparks rising from its wick, the old general led the way. The cobweb shadows quivered like veins against the crumbling stone walls. The lantern gave barely enough light to see the way by.
"You could have brought a wand or something enchanted with daylight," Pinch sourly observed.
"Lord Manferic disapproves," was all the explanation he got.
"Of course, I forgot. He's dead."
They ventured farther into the tunnels and Pinch could not say if these were routes he'd traveled before. Unsure that Sprite could follow their dust-marred trail, Pinch set to slicing off more bits of his cloak, scraps of cloth for the halfling to follow, assuming he made it this far. He was barely able to grip the fabric in his crippled hand, and the task threatened to be noisy. To cover his actions, he became unusually talkative. "Why do you serve him, Cleedis? He's dead and it's better he was gone."
"Lord Manferic is a great man."
"He's not a man anymore, and he was more monster than man when he was alive."
"He did what he must to protect Ankhapur from its enemies. The city is strong because of him."
"What about me, Cleedis? What reason was there to hide my past from me?" Pinch shot back. "How did I threaten the city?"
"I'm sure he did what he thought he must," was the old official's icy reply.
"Is that what you'll say when he turns on you?" The rogue cut free another strip of cloth as they reached an intersection. He let it drop at the start of the branch they took.
"I have been loyal to Lord Manferic and he recognizes that. He will reward me for my effort."
"I see. Bors will be prince, you'll be the regent, and Manferic will dangle you both before the crowds as his puppets. Always the dog, never the one holding the leash, eh, Cleedis?"
The old man never broke his slow stride, though Pinch knew the words stung his warrior conscience. "There is no dishonor in loyalty, no shame in the rewards. I have done well by my life, far better than your mangy existence."
Another piece cut away. Pinch palmed it and continued his work. "I, at least, have my freedom. I choose what I want and I take it."
"Hah! That pathetic lie. Tell me, Janol, are you here now because you choose to be or because you've been trapped by your own greed and lust? You scramble for what I have, and not able to earn it by your own skills, you steal it from others. Or you used to-I've seen your hand though you try to hide it. Tell me, what becomes of a one-handed thief?"
Suddenly, Pinch lost his taste for conversation. He followed behind his guide, who was showing unusual vigor as they wound though arched passages, down stairs, and through vaults until they finally reached a large crypt just beyond a bridge that spanned an underground stream. Even before they entered the chamber, Pinch could feel the tingle of fear that had touched him in the necropolis. Manferic, cold and decaying, was near.
Cleedis stopped at the entrance to the room, sheltering the light from the door. "Lord Manferic, I've brought Janol," he announced to the darkness.
"Bring him in," resonated the chill voice of the dead.
Pinch paused at the door. If Sprite had followed him, he needed to stall for as much time as possible while the halfling scurried back for help. His plan, such as it was, depended on the others. He had few doubts what fate Manferic intended for him once the goods were passed over. He needed the distraction the others would provide if he wanted to escape alive.
Cleedis was in no mood to dawdle, perhaps motivated by fear of his dread lord. He impatiently drew Pinch through the door and into the center of the floor. The chamber had the pun
gent air of shriveled leather, the peculiar dry scent of decay.
The chamberlain fiddled with the lamp, lowering the wick until the flame was little more than a spark. It exaggerated the limestone walls even further until they were black canvases upon which played a grotesque shadow play of leaps and shimmers.
Something moved at the very outer layer of this bleak hell. Pinch saw it only by a shadow that stretched the thin limbs into an enormous insect scuttling across the wall. The shadow moved with a chiseled rattle that spoke of bones. It sounded like a skeleton the rogue had once stumbled into while breaking into an alchemist's garret, but it made him feel like a moth drawn too near the deadly flame.
"Chamberlain, you kept me waiting. There is no time for waiting," the shadow rasped like a bellows wheezing stale air, whispery yet harshly echoing from the stone walls.
"My apologies, Your Highness," Cleedis fawned. Using his sword as cane, the old man stiffly got himself down on one knee and bowed his head before the former king. "The path here confounds old men, my lord, and makes them loose their way. I have brought you Janol so that you can reward his service."
The shadow scraped closer, stepping into the edge of the dim light. In the sheltering darkness of the catacombs, Manferic the lich stood uncloaked before them both.
It wasn't as disgusting as Pinch expected, in fact it was barely disgusting at all. The thing that had been his guardian-Pinch could not change guardian to father so quickly-this thing almost looked alive. Certainly at midnight Manferic could have hurried through the streets unremarked, at worst a poor consumptive in search of good air. His face was drawn and stripped of fat. The skin was pearly gray and translucent as if someone had painted it over with wax. Pinch had expected the eyes to be deadest of all, but it was just the opposite; they burned with a life more ferocious than any living man's. They were the furnaces of Manferic's will, the driving ambition that kept him alive.
In that gaunt face, Pinch barely recognized the likeness of his guardian, now father. Death had not changed him nearly as much as the fifteen years apart from each other. He was thinner and sharper of bone, and he stood half-hunched as if bowed by some great weight. But when he moved and when he spoke, even in that sibilant whisper, he was still Manferic, the imperial arrogance just as Pinch remembered.
As Manferic stepped farther into the light, the first impression was denied. A flicker of the lamp highlighted a white spot on the lich's cheek, a spot that suddenly wriggled and twisted. Pinch was suddenly aware of the pale grave worms that wriggled out of the smooth skin and dropped to the floor with every step. They crawled out of the ruin of the lich's ears and tangled themselves into the matted filth that remained of his hair. Manferic, when alive, would never had tolerated this. Dead, the decay that was corrupting his flesh was of no concern. The lich was sustained by the dark combination of magic and will; the body was only a husk to hold it all. This was no longer Manferic the king, but a thing that Pinch could never call else but "it."
"Give them to me," the thing coldly demanded. It turned its burning gaze full on Pinch. The fires of its desire riveted him and then proceeded to pour into his soul the cold terror of its existence.
Although the lich was appalling to behold, there was no logical basis for the intensity of his fear. Had it been his sword, his purse, even a friend that the lich demanded, Pinch very certainly would have succumbed, so oppressive was the fear on his heart. Fortunately, what the lich demanded cut to the soul of what mattered for Pinch-to surrender without profit.
The rogue clutched the bag. "Payment first."
The Manferic thing scowled, unaccustomed, as both lord and omniscient horror, to resistance from a mere mortal. "Indeed," it clicked through its lipless mouth. "And what is that?"
"Fifty thousand nobles," Pinch responded, the burden of fear lifting from him. Haggling with a broker, no matter how fearsome, was something he understood, and understanding broke the dread awe.
"Vile rogue! The price was set at forty," Cleedis interrupted.
Pinch assumed an air of great injury. "Liar? I spoke the truth, dread lord," he lied brazenly.
"Enough," rasped the undead thing. "I can well guess the truth of it, Pinch. You forget; I know who-and what-you are." Those fire-filled eyes blazed into the thief, boring pits through the bone. A dread discomfort crawled like lice over the regulator's brain, itching and poking at the very thoughts of his mind.
Pinch fought the feeling, tried to block it out. He knew what it meant. The lich was probing his mind, rummaging through the tangled mass of his thoughts and memories. Pinch knew the trick well enough; it was one of Maeve's old standbys.
"I see it clear. You hoped to cheat me of forty-"
Manferic cocked its head with the looseness of death. "Father," the lich whispered. Without breaking its transfixing gaze, the thing spoke to the chamberlain, who had prudently stepped aside. "Cleedis-he knows," the mealy lord hissed.
"Yes, my lord," the old man fawned, trembling at the darkness in his lord's voice. "He only just confronted me."
"So, Janol-you are fatherless no more."
Perhaps there was still a mote of sentimentality in the creature that Manferic had become, for the thought probes retreated. Pinch held back his sigh of relief. The lich's feelers had come too close. If Manferic learned he was bargaining for a fake, that would be the end of the whole plan, and Pinch's life, too. Of course, if Sprite didn't arrive soon with the cavalry, it would all be over. He needed to stall.
"It explains much," he answered, doing his best to sound detached from the emotion it raised in him. "And nothing. Why did you deny me?" the rogue asked as calmly as he could.
Manferic's eyes flared as if to say, "I do not answer to you, mortal," but then the light of hate died away. "You are a bastard. When Manferic was alive, it was not proper to acknowledge a misconceived son."
The lich spoke of its living existence as if that were the life of another being.
"So why did you keep me around?" Pinch demanded before Manferic could press him for the regalia. He needed the time talk bought.
The lich shuffled closer, rotted lips drawn back to show yellow-black teeth, a horrid grimace that might have been a smile. "Because-because Manferic liked you.
"Do you think it was an accident-or chance-that Cleedis brought you here? There are a hundred thieves in Ankhapur, but I sent Cleedis for you. It was no accident; it was planned. With your help, I will rule Ankhapur." The lich rattled to a pause, letting the offer register in Pinch's eyes.
"I need your eyes and ears, my son. You will be the master of my spies, you will find my enemies and reveal them to me." The ragged Manferic looked at his maggot-ridden hand with bemused interest. "You will introduce them to me and I will entertain them," he whispered more to himself than to Pinch. Just as abruptly, he once more fixed his fierce gaze on Pinch. "I'm offering you Ankhapur, my son, not just a handful of paltry coins. Who else will do you that well? Give me the regalia and let us share the glory."
"So you can kill me as soon as I do?"
"I could kill you now and take it," the lich rasped, "but I want you at my side. Manferic knew this day would come."
"You and your plots drove me out of Ankhapur."
"Strength in woe-that was tempering. You would not be who you are now if you had stayed. You would be a lackey of your legitimate brothers." Manferic pointed a skeletal finger at Pinch's chest. "Now you are strong and resourceful enough to take a place at my side."
"Lord Manferic…" Cleedis finally found the wherewithal to speak. The old man had pulled from inside himself the fearless cavalryman of his youth. His stooped shoulders were pulled up, the lined face smoothed with determination, and all framed by the billows of his thin white mane. Gone were the trembles, the ague, and the arthritis that had bled his majesty. So firmly outraged, Pinch could see the Cleedis of years past, the fencing master and horseman Pinch had so long ago admired. His voice was filled with cautious indignation. "I have served you loyally, great king,
in expectation of my due-"
"Lord Chamberlain, my faithful servant." The lich twisted around to look on the old officer. "There has always been the most honored of places for you in my plans. Indeed, your greatest service is about to come."
The chamberlain smiled and bowed with all the humility of a fox, but before he could look up a ray of light the color of an algae-choked pond lanced from Manferic's fleshless finger to strike the loyal noble in the center of his head. It was as if the old man had been struck by a hammer. With a scream, he reeled back but the beam played on him. It rippled over his head and across the side of his face. Everywhere it touched, the skin festered and burst into red-black sores of diseased corruption. Cleedis flailed his arms as if he could beat the light away, but all that did was crisscross his arms with the bloody sores.
The scream became a whimper and the whimper became a sloppy gurgle of pus and blood as the ray destroyed deeper and deeper flesh. Cleedis stumbled backward until he fell to the floor and then, mewling, he crawled away, smearing a track of red slime over the rough stone floor. Manferic kept the grotesque ray mercilessly playing over the chamberlain's body as the pathetic wreck tried to drag himself to safety.
As the whimpering became bubbling sobs, Pinch turned away. Even for Cleedis, with all his ambitions and lies, this was no deserved end-this ulcerated mass that was bleeding its life out on the floor. Pinch didn't look back until the crackle of the spell had faded. What was left of Cleedis was unrecognizable-a mass of blood-soaked clothes and bubbled flesh that spared not a single feature.
"You killed him," Pinch gulped. The grotesque execution stripped away the rogue's normally chill demeanor, leaving him only to gawk at the horror on the floor.
"It has all been planned for," Manferic croaked, teeth bared in a garish smile. The undead king turned to Pinch once more.