Evasqeek’s last coherent thought as they pinned him to the floor was one of surprise. Who would have thought that the fat fool Skitteka had the wit to set him up like this? How could he have maintained such a facade of gluttonous incompetence whilst setting these wheels in motion?
He saw Vass stalking towards him, the bundle of stone held in his trembling paw. As soon as he realised what was going to happen he started shrieking, froth flecking his snout as he spasmed and writhed. The guards waited for their chance then slipped ligatures around his lower and upper jaws, pulling them open to reveal the thrashing pink of the tongue within.
‘That’s right,’ Vass said softly. ‘Open wide.’
And with that he started to feed Evasqeek. He pressed the stone down his throat one cancerous piece at a time. At first his victim hissed and rolled his eyes in terror. Then he started to shrill and his eyes bulged with a crazed joy. Eventually he started to change.
Fur sloughed away. Limbs withered. A second tail grew from the melting knots of his spine, a paw blossoming from the end of it. Eyes blinked open across his disintegrating form and the claws on his feet lengthened into talons.
Vass’s guard worked to keep pace with the transformation. They tightened some chains, loosened others. The tail was bound with leather ligatures and the eyes blinded as soon as they opened. They worked fast, concentrating on the knots and chains and ligatures that bound the monster’s form with the desperate skill of sailors adjust the rigging of a storm-tossed ship.
Even after Vass ran out of stone the transformation continued. It only slowed after the thing that had been Evasqeek was no longer recognisable. It bubbled and hissed and mewled within the mesh of its confinement, its image reflected in a hundred pairs of horrified eyes.
Alone in the chamber Adora regarded the horror before her with equanimity. Her eyes were as calm as a deep blue sea on a still summer’s day, and a smile played around the perfect curve of her lips. There was a faint blush in the cream of her complexion too, just as much as there might be had she just returned from a vigorous horse ride on a warm afternoon.
Then she shook herself and, whilst her captors still gazed hypnotised at the horror that had once been their master, she slipped away as silently as a cat in twilight.
‘You bring me much luck, little cat,’ Skitteka mused and pawed idly at his pet. Although it had only been a few weeks since Vass had appointed him as mine overseer, he had already gained over twenty pounds in weight. Even the pads on his paws had fattened, and he had taken to slapping Adora to hear the sound echo in the great audience chamber.
His audience chamber.
‘You are truly the only one deserving of this honour, lord,’ Adora told him, and in a way it was true. With Evasqeek out of the way Skitteka was the only one with a vicious enough reputation to rule his subordinates. Since he had taken over, things had certainly run smoothly.
That was something that Adora knew that she had to change. So she said:
‘My lord Skitteka, can I ask you a question?’
Skitteka slapped her playfully, the impact of his paw numbing her back. He was in a high good humour today.
‘Of course you can,’ he hissed. ‘As long as it isn’t a boring one.’
‘Thank you, lord,’ Adora said. ‘I just wondered why you keep the thing that used to be Evasqeek locked in a cell?’
Skitteka hesitated and Adora waited for another blow, harder this time. Instead Skitteka answered her.
‘Vass and I decided to keep him,’ he said, by which he meant that Vass had told him what to do while he had grovelled miserably before him. ‘It’s a reminder of what happens to traitors and thieves.’
Skitteka took a pawful of her hair and twisted it for reassurance. Adora ignored the pain and risked another question.
‘Very wise of you, my lord,’ she said. ‘But what does the thing eat?’
‘Anything,’ Skitteka said with a shiver. ‘Anything at all. And it’s always hungry. But enough about that. Tell me what you have learned in the past few days.
‘Three of the slaves are planning to break through their chains and escape,’ she said, not because it was true but because it wasn’t. The three she had in mind spent every night howling and sobbing and wailing with a misery close to madness. Adora knew that unless she removed them quickly, their despair would weaken others who might otherwise prove useful.
‘Give their names to the guards when you get back,’ Skitteka said.
‘Yes, lord,’ Adora said. ‘There’s also a rumour that an army of ghosts are gathering in some of the worked out tunnels.’
Skitteka hissed and twisted at her hair.
‘Ghosts? What makes them say that?’
‘Some of them have heard things. Seen things. It’s probably nonsense, my lord, but that’s what they say.’
Skitteka shifted, his whiskers twitching in thought. Adora pretended not to watch. She had almost invented something a bit more tangible for Skitteka to send his guards chasing after. Orcs perhaps, or some other monsters. But as always, it seemed, she had judged Skitteka’s gnawing anxieties correctly.
‘Something to investigate,’ he mused, beady eyes darting around the empty spaces of the chamber. ‘What else?’
‘Nothing definite…’ Adora began, then trailed off.
Skitteka, catching something in her tone, forgot about ghosts and fixed his attention on her.
‘Tell me,’ he said, and twisted one of her ears. Pain screamed as the flesh came close to tearing. Adora ignored the white-hot agony and spoke with a perfectly contrived hesitancy.
‘The guard Tso-tso,’ she began. ‘Whenever I am near him, he and his friends stop talking. It is almost as though they are suspicious of me.’
Skitteka released her ear and chittered with agitation. Tso-tso! He should have known that he was a traitor. He was capable and respected by the others. He no doubt had his own designs on Skitteka’s position. Well, he would see where those would get him.
‘Very good,’ he said, and absent-mindedly tossed a gobbet of meat onto the floor in front of Adora.
‘Thank you, my lord,’ she said and scuttled over to claim it. She ignored the rotten iron taste of the raw flesh just as studiously as she ignored the provenance of it. Her gag reflex almost betrayed her as the first torn-off morsel slithered down her gullet, but she massaged her oesophagus and thought about how close she was. How terrifyingly close.
‘I heard it took Tso-tso over three days to die,’ one of the guards said to the other.
‘Three days, yes,’ his companion replied.
Their conversation died. Their tails writhed. Their nostrils wrinkled. Something banged against the iron-bound door behind them and they both leapt into the air. When they landed they turned towards the cell they were guarding. The iron held firm, and the heavy beams that held it shut remained intact. But was that a new crack in the timber?
‘Our shift must be over by now,’ one of the guards chittered. ‘Must be, must be.’
‘It’s that cowardly scrunt Kai,’ the other agreed, fear turning to hatred within the black orbs of his eyes. ‘He’s always late.’
Something heavy slid against the door. It seemed to bulge beneath the guards’ terrified gaze, yet it still held firm. For now at least.
‘Look,’ said one. ‘Why don’t I go and get our relief? You can stay here while I’m gone.’
His companion didn’t deign to reply. He merely hissed with annoyance. Their concentration was focussed so intently on the door that they didn’t hear the footsteps padding up behind them.
‘Permission to speak, my lords,’ a voice said. The guards shrieked as they spun around. When they saw that it was a slave their terror blossomed into rage, and they scrabbled for their whips.
‘I have a message from Lord Skitteka,’ Adora said. ‘It is very urgent.’
‘Speak then,’ one said, paw still closed around the hilt of his whip. ‘Speak, speak.’
‘My lord Skitteka requests that you
go to his audience chamber immediately.’
‘What for?’ the two guards said in perfect unison, their voices sharp with suspicion.
‘He didn’t tell me,’ said Adora.
The guards exchanged a troubled glance.
‘But who will guard–’
This time the sound that came from the cell was not an impact but a series of squelches, as though something was being dismembered. Something big.
‘He wants both of us?’ one of the guards asked hopefully.
‘Yes, lord,’ Adora said. ‘And I am to wait here until you get back.’
The guards looked at her. If the thing escaped she wouldn’t be anything more than a morsel for it. But so what? That was gloriously, wonderfully, tail-liftingly no longer their problem.
The two guards took a final look at the door then skittered off. Adora waited until they had disappeared around the corner before she turned to the door.
Three thick wooden beams had been slotted into holes cut into the stone on either side of the door. A lump of ancient iron and battered timber, it rested on crude iron hinges each as big as Adora’s head. The hinges were rusty and the door was heavy, but it opened outwards so that was alright. The thing within would have no problem opening it. No problem at all.
As she tested the weight of the first of the beams that held the door closed, she heard something slither behind it. It would be waiting for her when she freed it, of that she was sure. Waiting hungrily.
‘Good,’ she told herself.
Adora wedged her shoulder beneath the beam and lifted it, freeing one end from the stone slot in which it had rested. Then she dropped it and sprang away as it thudded onto the floor. The noise echoed down the passageway. When the echoes had gone there was silence on the other side of the door.
Ignoring the twist in her stomach Adora removed the second beam, letting it tumble to the floor next to the first. When she stooped to remove the third an almost paralysing sense of reluctance came over her. She had seen the creation of the thing that had been Evasqeek, and beside it all the horrors down here paled into insignificance. There was wrongness to it, a terrible, life-hating wrongness.
‘Good,’ she repeated, lifting her chin and gazing defiantly into space. ‘Then it will serve my purpose.’
Without giving herself any more time to think she wrestled the final bar free and stepped back from the door. It was as well that she did. No sooner had the last bar been lifted than the horror within hurled forward. Iron and wood shattered as it impacted on the stone wall and the thing which had been Evasqeek emerged.
Adora tried to scream, but her throat had locked tight. Her knees had locked tight too, and even though instinct screamed at her to run, run, run damn it, she remained frozen as the thing slithered and lurched towards her.
It had grown during the dark weeks of its captivity. Now it was three times the size of the creature it had once been, and a confusion of pseudopods and limbs grasped greedily at the world about it. The eyes that dotted its form like so many bullet holes swivelled towards Adora and then she was screaming, and she was running, and she had never been so terrified in her life.
The thing chased her and although that was what she had wanted all along she wasn’t happy about that. Not any more, no, not one little bit. For the first time she understood how all of those that had died around her had been able to give up on life.
But she was still Adora. Even as panic gripped her she made sure that the thing remained behind her as she followed the route she had decided upon. This was her one chance to escape, her only chance. And, she decided, she would take it just as surely as a dropped cat will land on its feet.
The guards had just closed the hatch on the last of the slaves when Adora burst in on them. Although they were used to having Skitteka’s pet sidling around they had never seen her like this, fleeing and terrified and suddenly dangerous looking.
‘In the hole with you,’ one of them said and pointed to the trap door that led down into the oubliette. He went to lift it and Adora had a terrible vision of what would happen to the trapped mass of humanity below if the thing behind her got down amongst them.
‘Run,’ she told him and hit him straight armed. He tumbled backwards, shrilling in outrage as he drew his weapon, but then the thing which had been pursuing Adora was upon them.
Their squeals echoed after her as she ran, adrenaline burning within her. After a while she slowed down and eventually forced herself to stop. The sound of the struggle behind her had already died away, and she had no doubt as to who had won. She rubbed the sweat from her face, ran her fingers through the slick of her hair, then circled back around to the oubliette.
The thing had already gone, searching for new victims. The remains of those it had left behind lay scattered around the chamber, torn and dismembered. Adora rolled a head away from the trap door, lifted it, and pushed down the ladder. A ring of terrified faces looked up at her, squinting in the light she had let into their darkness. She looked down upon them and smiled, the radiant expression framed by the golden halo of her hair.
‘Glorious news,’ she told them. ‘Today the gods have given you the chance to take your vengeance.’
With that she threw the rat-featured head of the guard down in amongst them. They looked from Adora to the head and then back again. And then with a collective cry that sounded more like the roar of a wounded beast than anything human they swarmed up the ladder, made fearless by the miracle they had witnessed.
Had Skitteka led the battle against the thing which had been Evasqeek, it might have gone better. Without the confusion it might have been lured into a place where it could have been attacked from all sides at once, or where it could have been pushed down a mineshaft or crushed beneath falling stone.
But Skitteka hadn’t led the battle against the horror. Instead he had driven his underlings towards it, hiding behind their desperate savagery until they had finally overwhelmed it. Their victory had come at a terrible cost. The remains of a score of guards had been smeared throughout the mine, and dozens of survivors lay shattered and broken amongst them.
Even then, had Skitteka led the battle against the slaves he might still have saved the mine. The humans were desperate but compared to the guards they were slow and clumsy, and their makeshift weapons were no match for the razored perfection of the guards’ own poisoned blades.
But Skitteka hadn’t led the battle against the slaves. Instead he had locked himself into his burrow, sweating and stinking and waiting for others to save him.
They hadn’t.
And now he sat, terrified and alone. Although the mine still rang with the sounds of battle, he ignored them. Instead he had withdrawn into the paralysing cocoon of his own cowardice. He was only shaken from it when, heralded by the squeal of a guard who had chosen to skulk rather than flee, one of the slaves slipped into the room.
Skitteka hissed and scrabbled for the handle of his blade, but then the slave stepped into the pool of light and he recognised the blonde of her hair and the meek expression on her face.
‘My lord,’ Adora said, padding forwards. ‘Thank the gods you are still alive. Can I wait with you until the fighting is over?’
Skitteka’s fur bristled, and suspicion wrinkled his snout.
‘Why aren’t you with the other slaves, little cat?’ he said, gesturing towards her with his sword. The murderous sliver of steel gleamed with the venom which coated it.
‘They are mad, my lord,’ Adora said as she closed the distance between them. ‘They think that I am a traitor because of my loyalty to you.’
Skitteka started to speak, then jumped as the door crashed open behind her. The men who charged into the chamber were as filthy and starved as all the humans, but there was a terrifying lack of fear about them. Compared to that, their lack of shackles seemed almost secondary.
‘Save me, lord!’ Adora cried and rushed towards Skitteka, who had no intention of saving anybody but himself. He leapt out of his chair and
turned to flee to another exit.
But Adora was even quicker than his panic.
As he turned his back on her she lunged forwards, slicing through first one of his hamstrings and then the other. He collapsed with a squeal and Adora reversed her grip. She punched the steel between his vertebrae with the thoughtless accuracy of a seamstress pushing thread through the eye of a needle.
Skitteka shrieked and spasmed on the cold floor. He tried to make his crippled body work. He failed.
‘Stand back,’ Adora barked at the men who were closing in on their crippled tormentor. They paused uncertainly, their picks and shovels raised for the killing blow. Adora turned on them, and when they saw the rage on her face they retreated.
‘Go and finish off the others,’ she told them as she closed in on Skitteka. ‘This one is mine.’
His spine severed, he was thrashing his limbs as uselessly as a cockroach Adora had once seen nailed to the wall of an inn. She had been a serving girl at the time, and although she didn’t know who had visited the cruelty upon the creature, she had never forgotten it. Between her duties she had watched it dying for almost a week, its struggles getting weaker and weaker. Eventually, when it could manage no more than the occasional twitch, its fellows had returned to devour it.
Unfortunately she didn’t have the time to organise a similar fate for Skitteka.
Never mind. She would make do with what time she had.
‘See this?’ she told him, holding up the bloodied dagger. He rolled his eyes and hissed an entreaty.
‘Please help me,’ he said. ‘I will give you clothes, lots of clothes. And meat! As much meat as you want.’
Adora felt her control tearing.
‘What I want,’ she said softly, ‘is for you not to touch me anymore. Instead,’ she lifted the dagger, ‘I’m going to touch you.’
So she did.
It took a long, long time. When she had finished and the last of his screams had bled out she turned to find that some of the men had stayed to watch her. Their open mouths and wide eyes made them look like startled cattle.
Hammer and Bolter Year One Page 55