“They don’t seem too bothered by your current state.”
“I’m a hard worker,” Gerd replied. “I’m honest. I keep to myself. I built the chicken run, and repaired the sty. I’ve almost cleared another six acres of field in the lower valley.” He shrugged. “Dead isn’t the same as it is down on the plains. They may be a little spooked by it, but as long as I’m not lazy and I don’t touch their daughters, they leave me alone.” He paused at the entrance of a low-framed, ramshackle hut on the outskirts of the village. “Be nice.” He stepped inside. “Grandma? There’s someone to see you.”
Marius sighed, and put one hand on the door frame.
“I’m going to regret this,” he said to the wood, and followed Gerd into the hut.
TWENTY-ONE
“More soup?” The old woman stood above Marius, a ladle held in front of her like a white walking stick. Hot lumps of something that may have started out as vegetable matter dripped from it onto the back of Marius’ hand. He watched it slide off onto the table, wishing he had a cloth to wipe it away. There was no chance in hell he was going to lick his hand clean.
“Uh, no, no thank you,” he said, eyeing the bowl in front of him. It overflowed with the greasy, viscous product, the colour and consistency of pus. “I couldn’t eat another bite.”
“Are you sure?” the old woman waved the ladle about like a weapon. Hot liquid sprayed the table, the floor, and Marius. He held up a hand to ward off the attacking droplets.
“Quite sure. Thank you.”
“Well, if you’re sure.” She turned away, and filled hers and Gerd’s bowls with uncanny accuracy, before returning the cooking pot to its station next to the fire, and gaining her seat. Gerd picked up his spoon, and the old woman slapped his hand.
“You know better than that,” she said. Gerd dropped the spoon with a guilty look at Marius. Marius left his own cutlery where it lay. He had no intention of picking it up to begin with. The old woman intertwined her twig-like fingers and raised her hands before her face.
“We thank you, Lord Gods,” she began, and Marius could not help the slight hiss of derision that escaped his teeth. The old woman tilted her head so that her unseeing eyes fixed upon him. Marius stared back, until her lack of blinking began to make him uncomfortable. The moment he looked away, she continued. “For this blessing of food, and for the comforts of life which you bestow upon us, your humble servants. To your glory be.”
“To your glory be,” Gerd said in a small voice.
“Let’s eat.” The old woman raised her spoon and began to scoop the warm goo into her toothless mouth at a rate of knots. As she slurped and slapped her lips together in appreciation, Marius took the opportunity to examine his surroundings. Nothing had changed since his last visit. The single room that served as kitchen, living quarters and, he sniffed in horror, bathroom, still resembled a giant game of pick-up-sticks that had somehow ended up on their ends. Dried garlands of something that may have started off as plant life hung from nails, and if there was a right angle to be had, he couldn’t find it. The only thing more rickety than the furniture was the old woman herself, and Marius still wasn’t sure which of the pigs outside were her pets and which were her direct relatives. He stared in horror at the thick dribbles that escaped her maw and ran slowly across her hairy chin.
“You don’t pray,” she said in a spray of beige liquid. “Are you a godless man?”
“I have my own beliefs.” I believe you are disgusting, he thought. I believe I want to get the hell out of here. I believe I want to be ill.
“Hmph,” the old woman’s lip curled. “Too clever to need salvation, eh? Don’t feel the need to protect your immortal soul?” She waved her spoon at him like a sergeant major’s crop. “Too busy, too clever, to think about life everlasting?”
“Oh, no.” Marius stared at the chipped spoon as it swished about, dangerously close to the bridge of his nose. “Everlasting life is very much in my thoughts. Very much.” He twisted his gaze towards Gerd, head resolutely bent over his emptying bowl. “Life after death is of interest, and all its many wonders.”
Gerd peeked up from his meal, saw the look on Marius’ face, and quickly ducked back down.
“Gerd, darling?”
“Yes, Grandmamma?”
“I’m a silly old bissum, I know. But I‘ve gone and left the gate to the upper field open. Would you be a dear and close it for me?” She turned a toothless smile upon her grandson. “Please?”
Gerd glanced from her to Marius and back.
“You’ll be all right?”
“Of course, sweetheart. Mr… I’m sorry, what was your name again, dearie?”
“Spint. Mister Spint.”
“Mister Spint and I will just chat while you’re gone, dear. Be a good lad.”
“Yes, Grandmamma.” Gerd rose, wiped his mouth on his shirt sleeve, and made for the door. Marius watched him go, while the old woman kept her sightless gaze pinned to his chin. As soon as the door closed behind him, she coughed.
“Right, now. Let’s cut the bullshit, shall we?”
“I’m sorry?”
“You heard me, sonny.”
Marius blinked. The old woman was staring right at his eyes, her blank white orbs appearing to look right through his skin to the lies beneath. “Mister Spint indeed. You think I’m stupid? Like I never went to the theatre?”
Marius raised an eyebrow in acknowledgement. “Well, it didn’t seem likely.”
“And what am I then? Mistress Comiglia?”
Marius’ eyes widened. Mister Spint and Mistress Comiglia were married, in the play from which he had taken the name. The play was bawdy, and their marriage was, depending on the production… explicit. “Wait a minute,” he said hurriedly. “If you think that’s why I chose…”
The old crone cackled. “Don’t be stupid.” She leaned forward, her cabbage breath washing over him. “I know who you are, boy. You think I don’t recognise your voice? Lack of sight doesn’t make a woman stupid. It sharpens the senses, and the memory.”
“I–”
“Tell me what happened to my grandson.”
“What?”
“You heard me.” She leaned back, and crossed her arms. “You’re the one who came here with stories of gold and adventure, and stole my boy away from me. I know that. He’s changed, and I don’t mean he’s grown up.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not stupid. I can hear. He doesn’t sleep. He lies there, pretending, those nights he remembers to, but he can’t fool me. He’s not that bright.”
“You’ve got that right,” Marius muttered.
“Watch it.”
“Sorry.”
“So?”
Marius kept his gaze fixed on the door. He could feel the old woman’s eyes looking through him, feel the muted heat of her dislike washing over him in waves. She sat, immobile as a weathered rock, as if she had all the time in the world for his answer.
Finally: “He’s dead.”
“What?”
Marius sighed. “He’s dead. Down on the plain. A soldier. He’s animated, he thinks and dreams and carries on like he always has, but he’s not alive. He’s been to the Kingdom of the Dead, and… he’s dead.”
The old woman should have exploded, called him a liar, or worse. She should have swung a gnarled hand at his head, tipped back her chair, spat in his face and accused him of sins innumerable for his falsehoods. Instead, she raised her hands to her face, and breathed deeply into them, once, twice.
“I knew it,” she said as she lowered them to her lap. “I knew it.”
“How? How could you possibly–”
“The villagers never talk to him.” She swung out of her chair and shuffled over to the single window, raising her face to the shaft of sunlight that came through as if basking in the early morning heat. “They show him respect, of course. He’s a good worker. He pretty much rebuilt our corrals by himself, and re-ploughed the upper fields, since he came back.
But they don’t talk. Not to him.” She turned from the window, and tilted her chin towards Marius. “If you’re old, and blind, people think you’re deaf as well. They forget to stop talking when you come near.” She sighed, and a fire seemed to dim inside her. “What did you do to him?”
“I didn’t…”
“You took him away, and got him killed, and now…” she returned to her seat, slumped into it. “What is he going to do when I’m gone, eh? What then?”
“I… I don’t know.”
“No. I don’t suppose you do.”
They sat in silence for long minutes, until the door opened and Gerd stepped through. He looked from Marius to his grandmother, and back again, frowning.
“You told her,” he said finally.
“Yes.”
“You told her.”
“Yes. I did.”
“What on Earth did she–…?”
“I’m in the room.”
Both men turned towards the old woman, sitting upright at the table, staring at something immeasurably far away. In an instant, the anger left them.
“Sorry.”
“Sorry.”
“Right,” she said, standing. She felt her way along the edge of the table towards the chopping block and cooking utensils stacked in the far corner. Marius realised that it was the first time he had seen her need assistance to move around the room. If Gerd noticed he said nothing, but it was obvious to Marius that something had left the old woman, some spark of resistance towards the fates. “Mister…”
“Spint.”
“Spint, says you’ll be going with him.”
“Grandmamma, I don’t want…”
“You’ll be needing something to tide you over.” She busied herself rummaging amongst the bags and baskets, emerging with a cobb loaf and small bag. “This should see you for the day.”
“Grandmamma…”
“Take a good stick. You can’t go wrong with a good stick.” She coughed, a sound that was as much sob as anything, then steadied herself and made her way back to the chair. “Mister Spint says he needs to go straight away, so you’d best be on the hop now, boy. Give me a kiss.”
“Grand… yes, Grandmamma.” Gerd stepped forward and kissed her offered cheek. She grabbed his neck, and held him to her for a moment.
“You be careful now, boy. Just… be careful.”
“Yes, Grandmamma.” Gerd straightened, and took the bag and loaf. He stepped past Marius to the door. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Yes, yes, I know.”
“I love you.”
The old woman said nothing, then, finally, “Off with you now, boy. Come home soon.”
Gerd opened the door, and stepped through. Marius made to follow.
“Mister Spint?”
“Yes.”
“See him right, you hear me?”
“I…” He saw her then: old, small, frightened; sitting alone at her table, with her only comfort standing outside, suddenly alien and terrifying to her. He stepped backwards, and silently put the door between them. Gerd was waiting a dozen steps away, head bowed. Without a word, Marius joined him.
They stopped long enough for Marius to wash the drying remains of the old woman’s soup from his face and arms. Then they were outside the village and running down the mud track towards the plains at the base of the mountains. They ran in silence, avoiding each others’ gaze, letting the lie of the land dictate their progress. The ravines closed in behind them, closing them off from sight of the village, until they ran between grey walls that pressed against their minds with solemn finality. It was not until they had left the mountains behind and were well into the long, slow undulations of the flatlands that Gerd finally spoke.
“Why?” he asked, as they crossed a trade road and leaped across the drainage ditch on the other side.
“Why what?”
“Why did you tell her?”
“Because…” Marius stared at the grasses around him, at the open horizons and the roads he could not follow, “I’m sick of lying. I mean, look at me. Look where it’s gotten me. I’m just… I’m just sick of it.”
He put his head down, ignoring the world and the sunshine and his own mind. The dead men ran on for several more minutes.
“She won’t survive, you know.”
“What?”
“Grandmamma. She won’t be able to cope with it. Your truth.” Gerd glanced at him. “You’ve killed her.”
After that, there was nothing left to say. They ran on, through the rolling plains of the Scorban Flatlands, skirting the farmlets and freeholds that dotted the plains like breadcrumbs, maintaining their tireless pace through both day and night. They travelled for six days, swinging past the distant lights of Borgho City and passing through the wonders of the Grass Fields without pausing; crossing the battlefield where their deaths had occurred with nothing more than a glance at each other and a thin-lipped tightening of their jaws; finally pushing down towards the coast, altering their stride as the smooth plains gave way to the more broken lands of the coastal ridge, tying their path to the roads that criss-crossed the lands outside the capital, following the major highway between Scorby and Borgho, all the while keeping themselves hidden from view, a hundred metres or more from the road’s edge, behind the fences and the first line of trees. Finally, as night was falling and they were no more than a day’s journey from the capital, Marius called a halt. They settled in a small clearing amongst the trees, gathered branches and leaves from the surrounding forest floor, and built a fire. They sat on either side, staring into the flames. Marius held his hands towards the fire, examining their backs in the flickering light.
“Funny,” he said at last, surprised at how loud he sounded.
“What is?” Gerd looked through the fire at him, face clouded with suspicion.
“I shouldn’t need a fire. But I do.” He turned his hands, stared at his palms. “Once it’s night, and I’m still, I still feel the cold. My hands are freezing.” He looked up, caught Gerd’s look. “Why do you suppose that is?”
Gerd shrugged. Marius stared at him for several seconds. “You do too, don’t you? Look at the way you’re huddled around yourself. You’ve been shifting around ever since you sat down, warming one side then the other. Why is that, Gerd? Surely, surely we shouldn’t feel it. We are dead. Aren’t we?”
“Well, I am.” Gerd raised a hand to his chest. “A Scorban soldier sliced me like a haunch of beef. I’m sure you remember.” He ran his fingers across his chest, and Marius could imagine the scar he felt. “You let it happen, after all. Did you get a good view?”
“I… I’m sorry.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I’m sorry.” Marius looked into the flames again, saw the battlefield laid out in its depths. “I am. I should never… it’s been a long journey since then. I’m really sorry.”
Gerd sighed. “You bloody well should be.” He stood and rounded the fire to sit by Marius’ side. “I should hate you.”
“Why not?” Marius smiled, a short, bitter movement of his lips. “You’d hardly be alone.”
“No, I imagine I wouldn’t.” Gerd held out a hand towards his companion. “I don’t hate you. I did. But not anymore.”
Hesitantly, Marius took the offered hand, and they shook. “Why not?”
“I’ve had a lot of time to think since we left Grandmamma.” He poked at the flames with a stick, watched the sparks that swirled up into the darkness. “She’s going to die, and when she does, there will be nobody there to look after her, to make sure she’s okay, surrounded by all those dead strangers.”
Marius had his own thoughts on who would need protecting from whom once Grandmamma made her journey below, but he kept them to himself. Gerd was staring off into the night, and he sensed another of his home-spun soliloquies approaching.
“Maybe I died for a reason. Maybe it’s so I can help her, once she’s arrived. It’s all I’ve ever done. I’m good at it. I like it. Besides, I
’ve been thinking about it, and it’s not like you ever lied to me.”
“Sorry? What?” Marius’ eyes widened.
Gerd smiled. “You promised me adventure and riches, and seeing the sights of the world. Well, you’ve given me those. Not the riches, admittedly.” He laughed. “But adventure, sights, experiences?” He waved at the surrounding night. “You weren’t joking, were you?”
Marius stared at him in shock. After a moment, he began to giggle. Their laughter grew, cutting away their tension, their fears, until they were leaning against each other, tears streaming down their faces, howling with unrestrained laughter. Eventually they leaned back, and wiped away the moisture on their cheeks.
“See?” Marius said, brandishing his wet fingers. “This is what I mean. How is this possible?”
“What? This?” Gerd displayed his own wet hand.
“Yes. I mean…” Marius stared at his hand, glistening in the light of the fire. “Every time I forget my situation, it’s like… it’s like my body does too. When I was with Keth it was like I was still alive. I could feel my heart beating, I could feel… blood in…” He glanced down at his groin, “Areas. And the way I looked…” Again, he held his hand up so Gerd could see. “How long have we been dead? A couple of months? Where’s the decay? Where’s the degradation? I look at myself at times, see my face in a glass, and it’s there, all the ravages of death, and I have to turn away and hide myself from view. But other times, times like now…” He looked his companion full in the face. “It’s not there, is it? Not on you. Not on me. Why is that, Gerd? Why?”
They stared at each other, taking in their faces, their exposed arms, the light and vitality in their eyes. Gerd raised a hand to his face, felt the health and firmness of his skin.
“I don’t know,” he said at last. “I… I don’t know.”
“No.” Marius stared into the depths of the fire. “Neither do I.”
They lapsed into silence again. Marius felt deadness seeping into his skin, brought on by his hopelessness, his bewilderment. He glanced down at the back of his hand, and saw the first tinges of grey as his skin dried and shrunk over his bones. Gerd noticed, and stirred.
ARC: The Corpse-Rat King Page 25