Clara Mandrake's Monster

by Ibrahim S. Amin

  "You have a job to do."

  The inn wasn't much further. All four of them went inside, and the elder peacekeeper went to the bar.

  "Two strong wines, Marlow. Need to settle the girl's nerves before she skewers some poor traveller."

  The youngster leaned in to Silas.

  "I wasn't going to skewer you."

  He didn't know what to say to that, so he just nodded.

  "And these two want a room."

  The man named a price, took Katrina's money, and handed over a key. They went upstairs and dumped their bags. Katrina unbuckled her belt, detached her scabbard. She brought a dagger out of her pack and wore that across from her bludgeon instead. Silas did the same.

  Their escorts were still drinking at the bar when they went back down. They exchanged nods, then the monster hunters headed into the street.

  "Untrained youths with uniforms and polearms." Katrina's eye narrowed. "They're as likely to start trouble as quell it."

  Silas wanted to go back into the inn. Take the girl aside. Tell her what it felt like when you saw blood on your blade and life sloughing from someone's eyes. He walked on instead.

  They rounded a corner, passed a few shops. Kids lurked in the shadows under the awnings, cast glances as they set up displays or served customers. The shoppers hurried away with their purchases. A Kharji came down the street and people whispered. She stopped, glared at a shopkeeper.

  "What're you looking at?"

  "Nothing, love."

  The merchant dropped her gaze and fumbled with her wares. The Kharji walked off. Silas turned side-on to avoid her shoulder. She snorted and said something in another language.

  There were more of them just before the crossroads. Four youths stood close together but spoke as if bellowing across a town square.

  "…the imam. Allat watch over her."

  "…stabbed…"

  "I heard a peacekeeper say they cut her throat."

  "Beheaded."

  "No. Stabbed. My sister helped wash the body. The peacekeepers are full of crap."

  "Bloody infidels…"

  "A bunch of them kicked her turban up the street. Pissed on it!"

  Across the road, two girls whispered. One of them giggled. A Kharji boy stormed towards them.

  "You think it's funny?"

  "What?"

  "Think you can laugh at our imam?"

  "I wasn't! We were just-"

  He seized a handful of ginger hair and she wailed. The other girl grabbed his forearm.

  "Get off her!"

  A Kharji woman ran at her, shoved her chest. The girl fell backwards and smacked the wall. The other two Kharjis advanced.

  "Want me to cut your nose off?" He shook the ginger girl.

  "No! Please!"

  "Then the imam can laugh, when she looks down and sees you in the hellfire."

  "Oi!" Silas strode at them. The other three Kharjis closed ranks. "Let her go. Now."

  The boy wrenched her head and she screamed. He tossed her aside. She rolled on the ground, came up on her knees. Dust and dirt clung to her hair. The Kharji pulled out his knife. Two of the others did the same. The fourth gawped at them.

  "Wait!" She turned her body, as though to run. But her eyes didn't leave them. "We-"

  Silas took the bludgeon off his belt. The one who'd manhandled the girl lunged. Silas tapped the Kharji's wrist. The Kharji yelped, dropped his blade.

  "Stop!"

  The unarmed girl leapt at Silas. He threw a push-kick at her abdomen and she landed on her back. Silas whirled round, but the other two were already running. One held his forearm. The woman clutched her shoulder. Katrina lowered her bludgeon and let it dangle from her hand.

  "Kuffar bastard!"

  The Kharji boy spat at Silas, but it splatted on the ground between them. He glared, stepped towards the monster hunter. Silas drew back his bludgeon, took aim at the lad's collarbone. But the woman who hadn't drawn her weapon was back up. She grasped the boy's shoulder.

  "Don't! The peacekeepers…"

  He grunted but followed her. The two of them ran after their companions. Their victims gawked at Silas and Katrina, then disappeared down an alley.

  "That's right!" A woman outside the tailor's shop pumped her fist in the air. "Bash the stinkin' Kharjis!"

  Katrina pursed her lips.

  "Come on…"

  Silas nodded. They turned down another street and continued towards the apothecary shop.

  ***

  Sergeant Gunther kicked the pickpocket a few more times. The kid groaned, rolled on the ground, and clutched his crotch.

  "Now…" He added one more, but lighter this time. "Are you going to do any more robbing?"

  "No! No!"

  "You sure?" The next kick was just a tap.

  "No! I mean… Yes! Yes!"

  "Glad to hear it." Gunther turned to his partner. "You can take it from here, can't you?"

  "Sure, sarge!" The young woman drew back her boot.

  The pickpocket yelped. Gunther sighed and blocked the kick with his sole.

  "I meant take him away."

  "To jail?"

  "To his parents. I know them. They'll give him a good hiding."

  "Oh…"

  She dragged the boy to his feet and led him off. He hobbled, but he'd get over that. The best justice lingered on the body for a while and stuck in the mind forever. Gunther made a mental note to tell the girl that.

  The sergeant sauntered down the street and whistled his favourite tune. As he passed the last house, he let out a sigh. Lemstras was a fine place. But his own mentor had taught him that a peacekeeper needed somewhere away from the crap, literal or otherwise. So he trod over the grass. Ran his hand along marble, which dozens of peacekeeper buttocks had worn smooth over the years. Pulled himself up onto the fallen column. His muscles relaxed and he sighed again.

  Gunther took a pinch of chew-weed from his pouch, popped it in his mouth. He masticated the clump till its staleness dissolved into a sharp-sweet mass. Chew-weed and a decent view. What more did a man need? He leaned back. Trees swayed on the horizon.

  He frowned.

  A cart trundled out from the wood. Men and woman flanked it, traipsed over the grass. Gunther murmured. Maybe they'd do the sensible thing and leave it on the plain… But they continued towards the city. Gypsies…

  "Oi!"

  Gunther beckoned the driver when the cart drew near the column. The other gypsies stared at him. But the man with the black mane jumped down from the vehicle and came over. His beard clinked. How many necklaces and amulets hid under that thing? Seemed pointless to wear them like that, but the peacekeeper didn't pretend to understand gypsy ways.

  "Good morning." The man bowed his head.

  "You've picked the wrong road."

  "Oh? It's brought us to Lemstras, has it not?"

  "Yeah. But it's narrow. Some of the turns'll be a tight squeeze for that cart of yours. Most wagons take one of the others, so they don't block up the street."

  "A thousand apologies."

  "What're you selling, anyway?"

  "Fruit, clothes, trinkets…"

  "Brought a fair few people for merchant work, haven't you?"

  Another gypsy shifted her weight from foot to foot.

  "My clan's heard so much about your city. No one wanted to miss its sights."

  Gunther snorted.

  "Don't know about sights, but the ale's good and the food won't kill you. If you…"

  He glanced round. A woman in Kharji clothes came along the road. She stopped in front of the bearded man then looked at Gunther.

  "Jasmina." The gypsy nodded. His hidden jewellery rattled.

  "Kh… Barzik." She nodded back.

  Kh'Barzik… He'd never get used to those gypsy names.

  "If you'll excuse us, peacekeeper, our customers are waiting."

  Another gypsy climbed into the driver's seat. The bearded man walked alongside it with the Kharji. Similar, weren't they, Kharji and
gypsy clothes?

  "Hey, wait…"

  The man and woman looked over.

  "Got any apples?"

  The man reached into the cart. His beard clanked, but nothing gleamed beneath it.

  "You're in luck, my friend."

  He tossed a green ball to Gunther, who caught it one-handed.

  "Thanks."

  The gypsy bowed. Gunther took a bite. The crunch brought a flood of juice that mingled with the chew-weed. He sighed, munched away, and watched the gypsies pass.

  ***

  "Like this…"

  Rayya cracked the egg. Gloop dripped into the pan. The yolk flopped after it, but not a single shell-flake.

  "Oh…" Clara picked one up in her glove. "Hmm…"

  "Maybe you should…" Rayya sighed and covered it with a smile. "Let me."

  She took it, tapped it, opened it. Lard sizzled and spat. Sulphurous smells turned Vasile's kitchen into an appetising underworld. Clara hugged her.

  "Hey! Careful!"

  Rayya jerked and droplets flew at them. Clara shielded her friend with her arm. They fizzed on her skin but she didn't care. Rayya laughed and Clara beamed.

  "What was that for?"

  "Because you're the best egg-cracker in the world."

  "Um… Thanks?" She added rashers of bacon, and porcine hell was even more wondrous.

  Rayya cooked, and the smile hollowed out behind Clara's lips. She couldn't tell her friend. Not now. It'd have to be later, in the evening. Right before she…

  "Morning!" Vasile came into the kitchen, yawned, and sniffed. "Better than your brother cooked."

  "Really?"

  Rayya grinned and filled their plates. They sat around the table, gobbled away, and Clara dreamt. She'd hack her hand off. Stop the scales before they spread. Live here forever, and… Bacon tore in her mouth. Flesh and blood and death. Her claws twitched.

  "Hey, could I borrow a hood? It's cold outside."

  "If you want." Vasile chewed a chunk of bread. "Might be a bit big for you."

  "That's okay."

  They ate, cleaned up. Vasile gave her the garment and it fit on her shoulders well enough. She pulled the cowl over her head. It was almost a blanket, but it'd do. Downstairs, the apothecary picked up a box and went off to make his deliveries. Rayya stationed herself behind the counter. Clara wanted to hug her again, but held back. No crazy Clara routine. Not yet. Save that for tonight…

  She went to the door. It opened and she jumped back.

  "Sorry." Sachin turned side-on and slid past her.

  "You're late!" Rayya said. "I was here early. Slacker…"

  "You live upstairs."

  "Details."

  "And there was a fight…"

  "Huh?" The grin vanished. "Are you-"

  "I'm fine. But a boy had his nose broken, and I stopped to help him." He touched Clara's arm. "Be careful out there. I hear it wasn't the only one. The Kharjis are scrapping with everyone today."

  Clara's fists clenched.

  "Why?" Her voice throbbed. She swallowed, tried again. "What happened?"

  "Two of their lot got killed last night."

  "Two?" She blinked.

  "One of them was Rashida Al-Taquba. Their leader."

  "The snake-woman?"

  Her face lit up before she could stop it. Sachin and Rayya stared.

  "Huh?" His brow creased.

  "I… I saw one with stuff on her skin. Markings?"

  "No, I've seen Rashida. Their imam, or whatever. She didn't wear anything like that."

  "Oh. Well, I should…"

  She waved to Rayya and left the shop. A dead woman's voice echoed in her ears.

  "The mawlana…"

  That was it. Not imam. Mawlana.

  "You're the last one."

  That meant Rayya was safe, didn't it? But… She chewed the side of her tongue. Should she have told Rayya? Destroyed her smile and made her cringe every time the door opened? Clara's eyes narrowed. Her friend shouldn't have to live in the same city as their parents' murderers.

  Ah! Before she left, she'd write a message, wrap it around a rock, throw it through their window. They had a temple or something. A… masjid? She'd tell them Clara Mandrake was leaving Lemstras, and they could come after her if they wanted.

  She spread her fingers.

  Blood. Blood. Blood.

  Clara grinned under her hood.

  ***

  They'd almost unloaded the first cart when the second rolled into the yard behind the masjid.

  "Mawlana."

  "Barzik."

  Fahmaia embraced the warlord, but kept her face away from his beard. She let go and stepped back.

  "Your sword… I…"

  "So be it. The Goddess' blessings are hers to give or take. Perhaps she'll favour us with another, once we've earned it."

  Warriors clambered over the vehicle, handed down barrels and boxes. Foodstuffs and other goods flowed into the masjid. She grimaced. None of these gifts would go to waste today, with a whole congregation to feed afterwards.

  "Are we in time to pay our respects? Jasmina told us… An imam!" The warlord's eyes flashed. "An imam, struck down like a dog!"

  The back of Fahmaia's throat twinged, but she nodded. Let the dead have their secrets…

  "Allat foresees everything," she said. "I thought our warriors would help search for the girl, not protect our brothers and sisters."

  "Our eyes and blades are ready."

  He tilted his head at the cart. Azim passed a bundle of weapons down to Jasmina, who carried them inside. Barzik and the mawlana followed her. Fahmaia gave instructions, had things laid in the storeroom, then led the newcomers into the prayer hall.

  Congregants knelt around the space in the middle of the chamber. White shirts and trousers shone like candles. Redness stained their eyes. Most were dry now, but Fatima wailed and sprawled over Yasmin. Tears darkened the cloth that swaddled the corpse. Had the two been more than friends and sisters in faith? Fahmaia wished she'd known the girl better, and Lemstras' other believers. This was an imam's role she had to play. But Rashida lay there too, so what else could she do?

  "Brothers, sisters. This is Barzik Khan."

  Their gazes fastened on the warlord. He bowed his head.

  "Forgive me for intruding here, today of all days."

  "The infidels killed Yasmin!" Fatima glared at him. "They murdered her!"

  "There will be justice for her, and the imam."

  Fatima looked away and wiped her eyes. The Khan clasped her shoulder, then kissed Yasmin on the forehead. He went to Rashida's corpse and did the same. In spite of everything, Fahmaia's eyes stung.

  "My warriors will defend every believer as if you were our own flesh and blood. I swear this by Allat and our sword arms."

  The mourners shuffled to make space, and Barzik knelt among them. His warriors found places of their own. Fahmaia cupped her hands and intoned scripture. When the last word left her lips, the congregants' own prayers whispered through the hall. The mawlana murmured laments for the young woman, then mustered up what she could for the imam.

  "Allat, forgive Rashida Al-Taquba. She erred, but she loved her masjid and her community of believers. Let your mercy guide her in the next life."

  Fahmaia gave them a few moments before she prayed aloud once more. Then everyone anointed their faces.

  "Allatu Akbar!" Fatima's fist thrust upward and others followed.

  The cry echoed around them.

  "Allatu Akbar! Allatu Akbar! Allatu Akbar!"

  The worshippers rose. They bore the corpses into the air, ferried them from hand to hand as they marched out of the masjid. Their chant flowed into Lemstras.

  "Allatu Akbar! Allatu Akbar!"

  Fahmaia Hashad wrapped her face, donned her gloves, and followed them.

  ***

  Silas stopped at the door of the apothecary shop and looked at Katrina.

  "Let me go first. They know me."

  "You think my face might scare
them?"

  "Well…"

  "Go on then."

  He opened it and entered an ocean of aromas. A blend of gardens, banquets, and childhood medicines.

  "Silas?" Rayya stood behind the counter, alongside a youth with an almost identical nose and smile. "What're you doing here?

  "I…"

  Rayya and the boy looked past him.

  "Oh. This is Katrina. Katrina, Rayya and…"

  "My brother. Sachin."

  "We're looking for Clara. Is she here?"

  "She's gone to the theatre. She works there now." Rayya looked from him to Katrina, then back again. Her smile faltered. "Is something wrong?"

  "No-"

  "Yes," Katrina said.

  "Maybe? Look, we just have to-"

  Katrina reached for her eyepatch. Silas opened his mouth, but she lifted it before he could speak. He winced and waited for the kids to scream. They wore matching frowns instead.

  "That looks infected," Rayya said.

  "I could mix up a-"

  "Monster signs."

  "Huh?" both siblings said.

  "The traces are strong too." Katrina's gaze swept the shelves. "Do you have monster parts here? Hair? Ground scales?"

  "No, nothing like that," Sachin said.

  Rayya looked away.

  "Rayya…" Silas waited till her eyes met his. "Have you and Clara been near a monster?"

  "Yeah."

  "What?" Sachin took her by the shoulders. "Where? How…?"

  "In our village. It… It lived in Clara's wardrobe, and scared her. For days. Then-"

  "That's ridiculous." Katrina crossed her arms. "Monsters don't lurk around to frighten little girls. They eat them and go on their way."

  "I know it sounds crazy! That's why we… we didn't tell anyone."

  "Your village… You lived in Traverd?"

  She nodded.

  "The monster came out when the Kharjis were in Clara's bedroom. It attacked them, and we ran. That's how we got away."

  "Did the monster touch you? Bleed on you?"

  "No."

  Katrina scratched her scars.

  "Even then, the traces wouldn't be this fresh. This strong. Not days later. You haven't seen it again?"

  "Only that one night. After that… It didn't matter."

  Katrina scowled, but Silas nodded. Traverd… The stench came back to him, assaulted his throat.

  "Where's the theatre?" he said. "We'll have to talk to Clara."

  Rayya looked to Sachin. The boy gawped for a second or two, till Katrina coughed. Then he blurted out some directions. Katrina turned and left. Silas thanked him and followed, but Rayya's voice stopped him in the doorway.