The Righteous Whisper of Allsaints (The White Blood Chronicles Book 2)

by Mark G Heath

“You were about to tell me what use Dromgoole might have for Samael,” prompted Gabriel.

  “Well, she may decide to keep him for he own personal advantage.”

  “ Being what exactly?”

  “ I can’t say. Like anyone of course, she has her own desires and may well decide that she would prefer to further those in some way. I suspect that will be her choice as she is a vain woman and is likely to use her newly-acquired advantage for herself. Alternatively, she may allow Thaindire to be harnessed for the greater good of Aftlain. Or I suppose, greater bad, depends on how you regard these things doesn’t it?” Grizel gave a slight shrug.

  “ You know, I don’t think you even know what they have in store for Samael. All you ever do is talk in vague, amorphous terms. You speak of possibilities and refer to maybes and somethings. For someone so learned, you regularly seek refuge in the uncertain.”

  “ Gabriel, I have kept you here for your own protection as part of your role in the greater scheme of events. You are my guest, admittedly an unwilling one, but whilst at times I have need to silence you, I saw no reason why I could not converse with you as a visitor in my home. Now, whilst preferring to talk with you, many matters on which we would talk would result in you learning of much that you should not. It would afford you too great an advantage and disrupt the balance of matters. If I furnished you with that knowledge, I could never let you free and thus I have, when certain matters have arisen, opted to be vapid. Would you prefer that I kept you like a dog on a leash in the corner telling you naught and throwing you the occasional morsel of food?”

  Gabriel placed his hands together, the fingertips touching and raised the triangle before his mouth mulling over Grizel’s explanation.

  “So, Reznik came to tell you about Thaindire’s predicament?” pressed Gabriel changing subject and returning to Grizel’s earlier admission.

  “ Yes, that’s right. That means that the cause of darkness has been advanced and accordingly I am obligated to redress the balance.”

  “ By freeing me? Now?”

  “ Master Vindicta, if I were to free you this instant I would only be setting you up to fail and thus I would fail in my task in seeking balance. Accordingly, I cannot act with due expedience, no matter how great your desire to leave these walls.”

  “ But surely, if Steadholder Thaindire has been enchanted, momentarily or no, by keeping me bound to your home, you are conferring too great an advantage to the Fallen One that walks freely in this village?”

  Grizel hesitated and lowered his goblet from his mouth.

  “ A persuasive point I grant you, however, if I release a weakened Gabriel Vindicta, one is who is easily overcome, am I not conferring an even greater advantage to the darkness?”

  “My strength is much returned Grizel and my faith has never waned. Combined, I am equipped to fulfil my original purpose in coming to Aftlain.”

  “And what of your arms? Where are they?” asked Grizel.

  Vindicta hesitated and lowered his gaze to the table.

  “ I know not what has become of my long sword,” he admitted crestfallen. Grizel looked at the witch hunter for a moment surprised by this sudden expression of shame. It was not something he had seen in Vindicta before.

  “It is in the hands of Captain Reznik, joining his many trophies,” explained Grizel.

  “Then free me this instant and I shall recover it.”

  “Let me offer you some comfort Master Vindicta. Matters have moved on and the circumstances have changed, so that I will have to release you from the confines of my home. The timing of your release is, however, very much within my gift and in order to accord appropriate balance, that time has not yet come.”

  “ Then when?”

  “Soon. Soon.”

  Vindicta stood up, towering over the seated Grizel, although he did not flinch at the witch hunter’s sudden movement. Vindicta raised a fist but then thought better of the action and with a snort of exasperation lowered his arm.

  “ I see you have learnt,” commented Grizel.

  “I have learnt that I am better harnessing you, than opposing you,” replied Vindicta.

  “I am not the opposition.”

  “Sometimes I wonder.”

  “Perhaps you would clear away breakfast and allow me to undertake some reading. We need to reunite you with your long sword and that will require some thought.”

  “ Very well,” answered Vindicta reaching for the various utensils set about the dining table.

  “ Thank you.”

  Grizel rose and stood besides Vindicta who was easily over a head taller than him. The witch hunter gathered in the plates and bowls as Grizel walked over to his fireside chair and picked up the book that he had earlier placed there. The silver lettering across the purple front cover flashed in the firelight, ‘Conjuring And Summoning Of Helpfulness’. Grizel lowered himself into the chair and opened the cover. He turned a couple of pages and settled on the contents page, his ring-adorned finger making its way down the list until it halted at a halfway point and he tapped the entry, nodding to himself.

  “ Time to even it up. You will do so most well,” he said to himself and sought out page seventy-seven within the tome.

  Chapter Four

  Wyatt Freegard lowered the apron over his head and let it fall into place across his front. He fastened the apron strings behind his back, knotting them once and then once again. He rubbed his palms against the fabric, as if removing a layer of sweat and stood amidst the worktops and paraphernalia of Ilberd Grimoult’s workshop. Glass and metal glinted in the candlelight, the various bottles, alembics, jars and demijohns reflecting the pale yellow light, which was cast about the room. The smell of jasmine hung in the air but he could not ascertain where the scent was coming from. Freegard lifted a thin finger and scratched at his cheek, a sudden itching sensation arising. Once satisfied that the itch had been addressed he turned to the large leather roll placed on the worktop behind him.

  He unclipped the fastener and slowly opened out the roll, revealing a glimpse of the various utensils held in pockets within the now flat carrier. He took hold of a white-handled implement and slid the saw from its pouch and placed it to one side. Next, he ran his fingers across the handle of another tool, his nimble fingers pausing for a moment before moving onto the adjacent item. He eased out the stiletto knife and tentatively placed the pad of his thumb on the point. He felt its sharpness and withdrew his thumb, putting the stiletto knife besides the saw. Freegard pulled open a pocket and reached inside, extracting six black metal clamps, which joined the already selected items. He halted and considered the tools he had chosen and nodded to himself. Raising a hand, he smoothed his hair back and glanced to his left as he heard a shuffling noise.

  “Should not be long now,” said Ilberd Grimoult as he entered the room from the rear archway. He carried a large white pot in both his hands as he walked to a n empty elevated slab in the centre of the room.

  “ Alluvior has carried out her work overnight on the girl,” continued the alchemist as he set the pot down and prised off the lid. He peered into the pot, sniffed and then walked over to a rack on the wall and lifted from the pegs, a ladle and a small brush.

  Grimoult carefully dusted a russet powder across the empty slab as Freegard looked on.

  “Are your tools of choice ready?” asked the older man as he continued to layer the slab.

  “Almost,” came the reply. The butcher regarded his array of tools and then slid a sharp knife from its sheath. He twisted the knife, allowing the candlelight to reflect in the honed blade, which was about a hand in length and serrated along one side. He turned to watch the alchemist as the elderly man moved along the bench, the pot tucked under his right arm. Ilberd dipped a ladle into the pot and lifted out another helping of the powder, as if he was broadcasting seed in the fields. He tipped it onto the smooth top and then placed the ladle in his right hand, swapping it for a brush, which he then used to distribute evenly the powder, the rus
set flecks soon coating the polished wood.

  “Where is it to go, once I have retrieved it?” queried Freegard. The alchemist halted his preparations and looked up at the butcher.

  “In there,” he jabbed the brush towards a large glass jar placed further along from where the pair of men stood. Freegard walked over to the container and bent towards it, to examine the jar. It was roughly ten hands high and four in diameter with a hemisphere lid which overlapped the top of the jar. The glass shone, having evidently been subjected to a thorough and scrupulous cleaning. Inside the jar was a pale green viscous liquid, which filled roughly three-quarters of the container. Swirls of dark green slowly rose and fell within the liquid, like lengths of hair moving in water. Occasionally a large bubble would form at the base of the jar and float upwards in a lazy, meandering manner, struggling to push through the thick liquid. He reached out a finger to tap the jar, near a bubble, to help it on its way.

  “ Don’t touch it,” snapped Grimoult and Freegard pulled his finger away.

  “You will affect the process,” explained the alchemist.

  “I was only going to tap the jar.”

  “That would be enough.”

  “Sorry.”

  “No harm has come of it.”

  “What is that?” asked Freegard tilting his head towards the jar.

  “Primern’s Vivificantern,” replied the alchemist. He gently placed the pot down and joined the butcher stood before the jar and its coalescing contents.

  Freegard frowned.

  “ The life giver.”

  “Ah, I see,” said Freegard his face brightening with understanding.

  “ Five winters in the making. Many moons have passed whilst I collected the constituent parts. Much more besides in the study of the art of its creation. A complex process indeed and one, which requires sacrifices. Frustratingly volatile and its ingredients grow scarce. Scarcer still following Miss Dromgoole’s success,” said Grimoult. He stood for a moment gazing at the writhing mixture and then returned to the pot, taking it up once again and doling out the powder.

  “ So, Master Grimoult, what do you use to make this vivi, vivi, liquid?”

  Grimoult ladled out another dollop of powder and set about dusting it across the slab. He finished and stood back, assessing his work.

  “ What was that young man?”

  “ I wondered what was in,” began Freegard, but his query was cut short by the sound of a firm thudding noise coming from through the archway.

  “Ahh,” announced Grimoult, “ they have arrived. You had best stand ready.”

  Freegard moved over to his tools and picked up a set of pincers as Grimoult shuffled away to answer the call of the door. The butcher stood waiting, his serrated knife and pincers to hand.

  “ That’s right, onto this bench,” instructed Grimoult as he returned, walking backwards into the room. Following him were the twelve homunculi who bore between them what was evidently a body, tightly wrapped in a grey winding-sheet. Two homunculi broke off from bearing the corpse and hopped from the floor to stand on the bench. Freegard watched as two more of the tiny men jumped onto the shoulders of two others, at the end of the worktop, creating a step. The remaining six homunculi then halted and lifted the corpse up to the creatures stood on the shoulders of their kin. These homunculi then passed the corpse smoothly and firmly to the first two who waited atop the bench. Silently and with sure hands, the little men manoeuvred the body onto the worktop, hopping onto it themselves to assist in moving the corpse along until all twelve held it again, a few inches above the dusted area. Freegard watched with some admiration at how they moved deftly and with such confidence, carrying the body with considerable ease.

  “ Good, good,” muttered Grimoult as he lowered himself to look under the corpse.

  “ And down,” he instructed. As one, the homunculi lowered their parcel onto the worktop and filed along to the end, each jumping down onto the floor and forming in two lines, awaiting their next instruction. Freegard stepped forward and raised the slim bladed knife.

  “One moment please,” said Grimoult. The alchemist placed a hand on the side of the shrouded head, as if cradling it. Freegard watched and frowned. Grimoult looked down the length of the corpse and then back up again. He leaned forward and spoke next to the corpse's ear.

  “ Thank you. You have no idea what greatness we have created, but you shall always have my thanks,” he said. Freegard said nothing as he waited. The alchemist straightened himself, patted the side of the corpse's face once more and then turned to the butcher.

  “ Right down the middle please,” said Grimoult.

  Freegard placed the tip of the knife below the chin and placed his right hand beside it, shifting his grip on the handle of the knife. He hesitated, the point of the knife pressed against the cloth.

  “You have done this before haven’t you? Normally I have your father carry this out for me, but in his absence,” trailed off Grimoult.

  “I have. Have no concern Master Grimoult.”

  Freegard pressed the knife down and the bound winding-sheet yielded as the knifepoint cut it asunder. Marble white flesh was revealed as the fabric peeled back. Methodically, the butcher pulled the knife down across the chest until he halted beneath the ribs. He leant over and placed more pressure on the blade so that it cut into the flesh, the knife sinking into the body, but no blood spoored to the surface. Freegard twisted the knife and moved it further down. With his free hand, he tugged away the cloth, exposing the cut stomach region of the corpse, which still did not bleed.

  “ Excellent, Alluvior has got it right again,” commented Grimoult.

  Freegard removed his knife and swapped it for the clamps. He peeled back the cut flesh and held it in place with the clamps. He halted and regarded his work so far.

  “Get on with it fellow, it’s not a painting,” urged Grimoult waving a hand at the corpse. Freegard selected the stiletto knife and made further incisions, the thin blade darting and prodding before he put it down.

  “ Right, here we are,” he said and with two hands reached into the depths of the corpse that he had cut open. His hands moved around inside the body and then a smile played briefly on his lips. Delicately, he withdrew his hands and cupped between them was a tiny, curled up baby. Nowhere near fully formed, yet identifiable still as a baby that would have grown further had its mother not met her demise.

  “ Open the jar,” instructed Freegard. Grimoult scuttled around the butcher and climbed a small stepladder so he could lift the jar’s glass lid off. He watched, the lid still in his hands as Freegard held the tiny form over the liquid.

  “Just lower it in,” said Grimoult. Obediently, Freegard placed the small being onto the top of the thick liquid and then let go. It tilted onto its side and Grimoult placed the lid back in place. Transfixed, the pair watched as the deceased baby slowly sank into the enveloping liquid, like a body being covered by a swamp, the pale green fluid eventually encompassing the new arrival, dragging it down into the depths of the concoction.

  “So, this will be the thirteenth then?” remarked Freegard breaking the silence. Grimoult shook his head.

  “No my dear boy, this will be the first.”

  “The first, but I thought you were making another one of them,” said Freegard pointing towards the still motionless lines of homunculi.

  “Oh in a sense I am, but this will be something more. The first and last.”

  “In what way?”

  “You shall see in the fullness of time.”

  Grimoult lifted a swathe of black satin and draped it over the jar, hiding it and its contents. He pulled the satin around until he was satisfied that the whole of the jar was covered up.

  “How long will it take?” asked Freegard.

  “Ah, I am not telling you that, Wyatt.”

  “Why not?”

  “So you can sell that information and have my creation stolen from me, just at the moment of its awakening? No, I am no fool.”
r />   “I would not do that, I am only curious,” said Freegard.

  “Then save your curiosity for the awakening, it will be better rewarded then.”

  Freegard began removing the clamps from the pallid flesh that was pegged back.

  “What is to become of her?”

  “Gregory will take her away and deal with her appropriately,” replied Grimoult.

  “What? Bury her?”

  “Who can say? That is for Gregory to address, she has served her purpose to me and thus is no longer my concern.”

  Grimoult reached inside his robes and extracted a purse. He counted out ten gold marks and handed them over to Freegard.

  “Er Master Grimoult, we agreed twelve marks,” said Freegard.

  “ Did we?” asked Grimoult, showing no sign of reaching into his purse.

  “ Yes we did, one gold mark for each of your tiny men.”

  “ Are you sure?”

  “ Very sure.”

  “ Ah, well, I thought it was ten,” remarked the alchemist.

  “ Well, I can always put it back if you would like?” said the butcher as he made for the large jar.

  “ Now, now, I am sure you are right. I shall have one of my helpers drop the balance with you later today,” said Grimoult.

  “ Ilberd, you have it in your purse already, I have seen it,” sighed Freegard, holding out his hand.

  “ Keen eyes haven’t you?” said Grimoult. He opened his purse and extracted two more of the gold coins placing them in Freegard’s palm.

  Freegard pocketed his pay as the sound of knocking echoed through the house.

  “ That will be Gregory,” said Grimoult and he made his way through the archway to the back door once again. Freegard slipped his tools back into their various pouches as he occasionally glanced at the homunculi. They steadfastedly ignored him, standing still and staring into nothingness.

  “ Boo!” exclaimed Freegard jumping towards them. His sudden movement did not cause any alarm or reaction at all from the tiny men.

  “ I wouldn’t do that again,” remarked Grimoult as he re-appeared.