Almost before he finished speaking the incantation, the broken body of the dead rat began to convulse, nearly leaping from the table as it reanimated at his command. The little creature lifted itself on its hind legs, swaying a bit and shaking its head from side to side until its broken neck popped back into place. It looked up at Garrett, its head still on a bit crooked, and awaited his command.
"What is wrong?" Klavicus asked, "You seem surprised."
"I..." Garrett said, looking at the still nearly full flask of essence in his grasp, "I just thought it would take more essence." He did not even feel the usual chill in his hand that came every time he used a flask to do magic.
"Is it... properly formed?" Klavicus asked.
Garrett studied the rat zombie, unable to detect any visible defect, apart from its crooked neck, but, as long as the body functioned, the alignment of its spine would be irrelevant. "I think it's fine," he said.
"Good," Klavicus said, "Will you do the others now, or do you need to recover?"
"No... I'm fine," Garrett said, "This is easier than I thought it was gonna be."
By the time Garrett had finished reanimating all thirteen rats, he still had over half of his first canister of essence. He stoppered the flask and returned it to his satchel, nestling it in beside the second flask that lay, as yet untouched, at the bottom of the bag. He flexed his fingers experimentally. He felt nothing of the usual icy discomfort that accompanied prolonged magic use.
"I kinda feel bad about charging you full price when I hardly used any essence," Garrett said, but the vampire waved aside any suggestion of a refund.
"Can you recommend something to mask their stench?" Klavicus asked, his lips pulled back in disgust.
"Oh, that will go away in about a day," Garrett said, "Zombies don't really stink on their own. That's just the leftover smell from when they were starting to rot. Once they became zombies, they stopped, um, decaying. As long as you animate 'em quick enough, there shouldn't be much smell at all."
Klavicus grunted, his eyes still locked on the eerily still group of undead rats that sat on their haunches, looking up at them with lifeless eyes. "You can control them now?" he asked.
"Oh, yeah," Garrett said, "actually you'll be able to too. Just a second."
Garrett straightened his back and cleared his throat. He wasn't sure exactly why he stretched out his hand over the waiting throng of zombie rats, but it seemed somehow appropriate.
"Listen and obey me!" Garrett said, trying to sound as commanding as he could, "This man is your new master." He indicated Klavicus with his other hand. "You will obey him in all things and serve him well."
He looked at Klavicus. The vampire looked doubtful.
"What do I do?" Klavicus whispered.
"I guess just tell them what you want them to do," Garrett said.
"Guard the feed stores?" Klavicus asked.
"Yeah, but you have to be pretty specific with zombies," Garrett said, "You might want to just tell them to kill any living rats they find and then bring their bodies back here for us to reanimate... well, I wouldn't bother trying to explain that last part. Just tell 'em to bring the bodies back here."
Klavicus gave him a hopeful smile and then addressed his orders to the tiny zombie horde.
The undead rats hesitated a moment as Klavicus's commands slowly registered in their magically embalmed brains, then they scattered, disappearing into the dark crevices between the shelves.
"They will come back?" Klavicus asked.
"Uh, yeah," Garrett said, hoping that it was true.
Klavicus sighed. "Good," he said, "Thank you for helping me with this. It has grown to be something of an embarrassment for me of late."
"Yeah," Garrett said, "I'm glad to help."
Klavicus's eyes turned upward, as though he could see through the ceiling into the embassy above them. "As you have helped me with my problem," he said, "so I will try to help you with yours."
Garrett gave him a questioning look.
Klavicus looked down at him and smiled grimly. "You are a good boy, I sense this," he said, grasping Garrett's shoulder in an eagle-like grip.
"Thanks," Garrett said.
"Even if I did not know this myself, still I would help you, if only because the Valfrei wishes you put away from the young Lady Veranu," Klavicus said, "and so, you and I must work together, yes?"
"Yeah," Garrett said.
"Good," Klavicus grinned, "We shall be a thorn in her flesh, you and I, and with your kindness, we shall leech away every drop of poison that this woman would pour into our lady's cup."
Garrett nodded.
"Good, then you work for me now," Klavicus said, "and you will return here, as often as you are able, as... an exterminator. There will be, I think, many opportunities in which you might cross paths with the young lady. Does this please you?"
Garrett nodded. "Yeah... thank you, Mister Klavicus."
Klavicus released his shoulder and gave him a gentle pat. "Good."
*******
Garrett lingered at the embassy for as long as he dared, but Marla and her mother never returned. With the approach of Curfew, he decided it best to head home and try again after his Templar training the following day. He bade Klavicus a friendly farewell and set off with his satchel still heavy with essence and his pocket heavy with silver, but his heart felt as light as goose down on a summer breeze.
As he passed near the market, a sudden thought struck him, and he turned quickly toward the nameless stalls at the end of the long rows of shop fronts.
He found the lean, dark-haired girl with the sand-colored tunic sitting behind her table of wares and chatting with her friends. All of the young people in her group shared the same dusky complexion and taste in earth tones for their clothing. Pearly white smiles flashed often and their laughter filled the rapidly emptying streets as the city's populace hurried home for the night.
"Hi," Garrett said as he jogged toward the girl's table, his hand already fishing in his pocket. He pulled out a silver link and held it out between two gloved fingers. "I still owe you for the feathery thing."
The girl looked up at him in confusion, her dark eyes going to the gleaming silver coin. "What's this for?" she asked.
"The feathery thing you sold me yesterday," Garrett said, "I didn't have enough money then, but I got the rest now."
Her eyes sparkled with recognition. "Oh, you're the kid with the turban!"
Garrett frowned. She couldn't be much older than him, even if she was a little taller. "Yeah," he said.
The girl's eyes narrowed, and she shook her head. "You don't owe me anything," she said, "We made a deal for twenty-seven, and we both agreed."
A younger girl, standing off to one side made a frustrated noise, giving the older girl a hard look. Garrett thought he could detect a family resemblance between the two. The older girl ignored her.
"Put your money away, city boy," the shop girl said with a little edge to her voice, "We don't need your charity."
Garrett blushed, realizing that he had given offence somehow. He looked down at the coin before palming and pocketing it. "I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't mean it like that."
The younger girl let out an exasperated sigh and rolled her eyes. The other young people in her group crossed their arms and watched in silence, waiting for Garrett to depart.
Garrett shook his head, his mind racing. Then, a hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but he clamped down on it, trying to appear as grim and serious as possible. He drew in a breath and addressed them again.
"Actually, what I really came here to do was to thank you for the quality of the gift," he said, "It was very well received by the person that I gave it to, and it is... the custom of my people... to thank everyone involved when something goes really well like that." He struggled to maintain his serious demeanor.
The girl's face seemed to soften a little at this, and she nodded. "I'm glad you enjoyed the brooch," she said.
"
Perhaps you'd care to purchase something else from her?" said a young man with three long, parallel streaks shaved into the side of his short black hair, just above his left ear.
The shop girl glared at him.
Garrett smiled. "Actually, it would be an honor, if you... and your friends... would let me buy you something to eat." He hastened to cut off her protest by adding, "In celebration for the successful gift... giving... It's a tradition... of my people."
The girl in the sand-colored tunic glanced at her younger sister, meeting the little girl's insistent glare with a resigned sigh. "All right then," she grumbled, "but you have to eat with us, city boy!"
"Of course," Garrett agreed. He looked around at the dwindling crowds of shoppers filtering away into the shadows. "Uh, I guess we better hurry up and find a place to eat then before everything closes for the night."
The shop girl laughed. She looked at the boy with the striped hair. "Crane, you and Mujah go with him," she said, "Take him over to Kylie's and get some food for everybody. You do the haggling. Our new friend isn't very good at it. Meet us back at the rookery when you're done." She began to pack up her table full of trinkets and antiques.
The boy with the striped hair that she called Crane looked surprised. He gave Garrett a suspicious look and then whispered to the girl, "I don't think that's a good idea."
The girl finished stuffing her wares back into her bag and laughed. "It's only a bad idea if you forget to blindfold him on the way back."
"What?" Garrett said.
The two boys, Crane and Mujah, took Garrett by the arms and led him away. The three of them made their way to the food markets nearest the lifts that brought produce up from the wharfs of the lower city.
"Um, my name's Garrett," he offered, by way of a belated introduction.
"Crane," the striped-haired boy answered, "and that one's Mujah."
The shorter boy holding Garrett's left arm grunted in acknowledgement. He wore an oversized blue felt hat, pulled low over his eyes, and a baggy yellow overcoat with the sleeves rolled up and the hem sheared off just above his ankles. He couldn't have been any older than nine or ten.
"Pleased to meet you," Garrett said.
"Yeah," Crane said, steering them around a cabbage cart.
"So, what's your friend's name?" Garrett asked, "The girl who sold me the feather."
Crane stopped walking, pulling Garrett to a halt. The skinny boy glared down at Garrett, rising up on his toes to take full advantage of his slightly taller stature. "Why do you want to know?" he demanded.
Garrett stammered for a moment before answering, "I dunno. I just like knowing people's names when I'm talking to them."
"Are you trying to be funny?" Crane hissed.
"No! I didn't mean anything by it," Garrett said.
"Hetta's Crane's girl," Mujah rasped, his childlike voice pressed down into a falsetto bass.
"Oh! No... I didn't... I mean I wasn't trying to... you know," Garrett said.
Crane loosened his grip on Garrett's arm a little, some of the anger fading from his eyes. "All right then," he said at last, "As long as you're clear on that."
"Yeah," Garrett assured him, "I understand."
The first chime of Curfew rang out across the city, and Garrett heard Mujah try to muffle a very childlike whimper. Even Crane seemed a little less confident.
"Let's go!" Crane hissed, "Before the ghosts come out."
Garrett allowed himself to be dragged along once again between the two boys, but he smiled and shook his head. "They're not ghosts," he said, "They're skeletons... well, skeletal constructs."
"What?" Mujah asked, forgetting to sound older.
"The Watchers," Garrett said, "They're made of bones, about twelve feet tall. Not very fast, but pretty deadly. At least the ones I've seen."
Crane scoffed. "Nobody stays out past Curfew and lives to tell about it," he said, "Stop makin' up stories."
Garrett snorted.
"You really..." Mujah began, then remembered to lower his voice, "You really seen 'em?"
"A couple of times, yeah," Garrett said, "The first time, they nearly got me. I was pretty scared."
Crane's mocking laughter died away as his eyes fell on the horned skull talisman on Garrett's chest. He faltered a step. "You're not making this up," he said, a hint of awe in his voice, "You're one of those death magicians!'
Both boys released Garrett's arms at once.
Garrett shrugged the sleeves of his robe back into place and straightened the brim of his hood.
"Yes I am," he said, "Now let's go get something to eat. I'm starving."
Chapter Seven
Crane set aside his sack of food and pulled the red sash from around his waist when they reached the outer walls of the Queensgarden District. "I gotta blindfold you for this part... sorry," he said.
Garrett decided not to argue, but laid both sacks of fruit that he was carrying on the cobbles at his feet and hesitated only a moment before throwing back his hood.
Mujah gasped, his eyes, the only visible part of his face between the brim of his felt hat and the enormous basket of bread he was carrying, grew wide at the sight of Garrett's scars.
"Gods!" Crane exclaimed, "What happened to you?"
Garrett shrugged. "Dragon fire," he said.
Both boys looked suitably impressed.
"What kind of dragon?" Mujah asked. He had long since forgotten to affect a gruff voice, and was well on his way to becoming a true believer in the cult of Garrett.
"Huh?" Garrett said.
Mujah's reply was cut off by the final Curfew chime, but the boy did not look quite as afraid as he had before.
"Talk later," Crane said, "We're almost home."
Crane pulled the sash tight around Garrett's face, across the bridge of his nose. Garrett didn't bother to tell him that he could still see a little through the threadbare fabric of the red cloth. Once the blindfold was tied in place, Garrett stooped to retrieve his sacks and followed along as the boys lead him into a dark alleyway, hardly more than a two-foot wide space, between a tall building and the Queensgarden wall.
Garrett could sense the boys beginning to relax as they stepped into the shadows. Still, they stumbled a bit in the darkness as they shuffled sideways through the narrow gap.
"I wish we'd brought a torch," Mujah complained after tripping over a chunk of loose cobblestone.
"Oh," Garrett said, "I can help." He bent sideways to lay one of his sacks down by his heel and then reached inside his satchel to retrieve the half-full flask of essence.
Mujah gasped again at the sight of the canister's green glow.
"Does this help?" Garrett asked.
"Yeah," Crane said, his voice subdued by awe.
"Would you mind carrying it?" Garrett asked, holding it out in Crane's direction, "I need both hands for carrying stuff."
"I... I can touch it?" Crane asked.
"Yeah, why wouldn't you?" Garrett said.
"I'm not a Magi," Crane answered.
"You don't have to be," Garrett said, "It won't do anything bad to you just by holding the flask."
"Flask?"
"Yeah, that's what we call the metal cans that we carry the essence around in," Garrett said.
"What's essence?" Mujah asked.
"That's the green glowy stuff," Garrett said, "We use it to do magic. I get it from a girl I know who..."
The hoarse shriek of a Watcher ripped through the alleyway. It wasn't far away from the sound of it.
"We'd better go!" Crane whispered, taking the flask from Garrett's hand. "Thanks for the... flask," He added.
"Yeah," Garrett said.
About thirty yards down the alleyway, Garrett stumbled over a low pile of rubble. Crane caught him with his shoulder then snaked his hand, still holding the essence flask, beneath Garrett's armpit. He pulled and lifted Garrett over the pile as they entered what seemed like a small breach in the Queensgarden wall. A narrow passageway of some sort lay beyond, within the
wall itself. Once inside, Crane steered Garrett over to a hummock of tumbled stones and sat him down to rest. All three boys took a moment to catch their breath and enjoy the feeling of safety afforded by the ancient stone wall around them.
Garrett laid aside the sacks of fruit and wiggled the circulation back into his fingers. Through the thin fabric of his blindfold, he could dimly make out the sight of Crane turning the essence flask over in his hands, examining it.
"Can I see it?" Mujah pleaded.
"Here," Garrett said, "I've got another one." He pulled the other essence flask from his bag and held it out to Mujah. At the last moment, he remembered to let his hand waiver, pretending that he couldn't actually see the younger boy.
"Thanks!" Mujah said, taking the flask.
"Be careful!" Crane said, then of Garrett he asked, "It really isn't dangerous?"
"Well, not like that it isn't," Garrett said, "It's only dangerous when you use it to do magic."
"I wish I was a magi!" Mujah exclaimed, waiving the flask around like a sword.
Garrett smiled and then said, "I can teach you, if you like. Both of you."
"What?" Crane said.
"Really?" Mujah added.
"Yeah, I've been teaching a magic class for some friends of mine," Garrett said, "I bet they wouldn't mind if you joined us."
"Yeah! I wanna learn how!" Mujah said.
"You know a lot of maji?" Crane asked.
"I know a lot of necromancers," Garrett said, "but what I was teaching my friends is called wild magic. I think it's the kind that fairies use."
"Fairies?" Mujah asked.
"He means the ilaani," Crane said.
"Oh," Mujah said.
"What is a necromancer?" Crane asked.
"That's what I am," Garrett said, "We make zombies out of dead people and animals. My uncle taught me how. Do they have necromancers where you're from?" He hesitated a moment before adding, "Where are you from, anyway?"
"A-Let," Crane answered, "Here, they call us Lethians, and, no, we don't have any necromancers where we come from."
"Where is A-Let?" Garrett asked.
"Way over the mountains, to the south," Crane said.
"We're going back there as soon as we find our parents," Mujah said.
The Frostwoven Crown (Book 4) Page 9