Too Many Curses

by A. Lee Martinez

  "Can we get on with this?" asked the sword. "Need I remind you, we're on a time limit?"

  Warily, the opponents circled each other, waiting for their moment.

  "He's going to get himself killed for sure," said Gnick the gnome, standing at Nessy's side.

  She hadn't noticed him coming up beside her. She was too intent on the battle. While Sir Thedeus was a great hero, as confirmed by the Sword in the Cabbage, she couldn't help but worry about him. Despite his human form, she still thought of him as that small, brown bat. And, though she tried not to play favorites among her charges, she was rather fond of him.

  "Tick tock tick tock," reminded the sword.

  But Sir Thedeus wouldn't be rushed. When the opportunity came, he would know it.

  It was the hound that finally grew impatient. It sprang with a throaty growl and crash of cymbals, claws outstretched, exhaling scarlet flame. Nessy involuntarily closed her eyes. A terrible cry burst in her ears. Sir Thedeus's death rattle, she thought. But it was more beastly, inhuman. A shriek of victory from the hellhound, she assumed.

  "I don't believe it," said Gnick.

  Nessy opened her eyes. The sword was wet with green-and-white blood. A glancing wound in the hound's flank boiled. Sir Thedeus laughed heartily.

  "Is that all ye have, beastie?"

  He took a step forward, and the hound, terrible a monster as it was, took a step backward. The hound snapped, this time with far more caution. This saved it from a quick beheading, but the blade drew blood again. A great slice steamed across its neck.

  Sir Thedeus grinned, and Nessy saw she had no need to worry. Not that she trusted his victory. It would only take a single mistake for the beast to kill him. But even if he lost, he would perish in glorious battle, and she couldn't deny him that.

  He spoke quietly, calmly. "Very well, brute. Let's finish this now." He stood tall and proud and bellowed loudly enough to shake the castle. "Have at ye!"

  The hellhound did the last thing Nessy would've expected. It turned and ran. Sir Thedeus chased after it, laughing the whole time. They dashed into an adjoining chamber of the armory, where Nessy lost sight of them.

  "I don't believe it," said Gnick. "He actually is a hero."

  In the next chamber, the din of a great conflict raged. The hound roared. Sir Thedeus shouted with boisterous glee. Bells clattered, banged. Metal crashed against stone. A helmet rolled into the archway.

  "Not my armory." Gnick ran into the chamber. "I just polished that room!"

  Nessy was about to follow him when a tingle in her ears drew her attention. She didn't know how she knew that Tiama the Scarred stood behind her, but she knew. She could sense the wizardess's awful presence.

  "Hello, madam." She turned from the clamor and racket to face Tiama.

  The wizardess seemed even less lifelike than before. Her pale skin was as cold and inflexible as steel, and she stood awkwardly straight, her hands poised like knotted claws at her side.

  "Hello, Nessy." Her burning stare peered past Nessy. "Having some difficulties?" She gazed into Nessy's eyes, and the kobold looked at the floor. Not out of fear, but because it was expected.

  "It's nothing, madam."

  The hellhound and Sir Thedeus were visible in the archway for a moment. The monster snarled and yowled, blood and fire pouring from its wounds. Steaming ichor covered Sir Thedeus. It must've burned his bare skin, but he made no show of pain.

  "Hahaha! Not so fast, beastie! I said, have at ye!"

  The hound made a clumsy swipe that he batted aside. They maneuvered behind a wall. Gnick came dashing after them on his short gnome legs.

  "Not the spears! Not the spears!"

  There followed a tremendous crash and clatter.

  "Is that a hellhound?" asked Tiama.

  "Yes, madam."

  "Lovely specimen."

  "My master owns only the best of everything."

  Tiama chewed her lower lip, which was no easy feat given she had no lips at all. Her flat tone adopted that vaguely insulting cadence. "Yes. Your master."

  The hound roared as if its throat were full of blood. Its lacerated body passed into view briefly. It was nearly finished. The flame and smoke that had concealed it were little more than a few gray puffs. It now dragged itself across the floor. Nessy pitied the thing. It had only been following its nature.

  With a fresh burst of vigor, it bounded away with Sir Thedeus behind.

  "Come on now, beastie. What part of 'Have at ye' don't ye understand? Let's be done with it."

  "Watch out for the shields!" shouted Gnick just before the unmistakable melody of dozens of shields being knocked aside filled the armory. "Oh damn."

  Tiama asked, "Does your master always trust you with such important matters?"

  Nessy hesitated. Tiama knew something was wrong. She had to. But she refused to say anything outright. Instead, she implied and hinted. Wizards could be devious and manipulative, but why bother? Why didn't Tiama just reach out with her fingers of death and kill Nessy?

  "This is a trifle, madam," said Nessy. "The master has far more important affairs than pest control."

  "Yes. I'm sure his affairs are . . ." Her words trailed off, and she made some imprecise gesture as if to gather them up. "Very pressing indeed."

  Tiama smiled. Then she did something truly perplexing. She laughed. It wasn't much of a laugh, little more than a brutal wheeze, a hint of amusement. But it fit perfectly with her insinuation of a smile, more the idea of the possibility of the indication of a smile.

  "Take me to your master, Nessy. I would speak with him." She sneered. For once, there was no mistaking the expression, no interpretation required. Unpleasant as she was, it didn't suit her. Her face wasn't made for scowling. It wasn't made for anything, just a frame around her burning eyes.

  Nessy realized then that she disliked Tiama and Nessy made it a practice to try to like everyone, to find something worthwhile in their character. But there were no such value to Tiama. The wizardess was nothing, an utter lack of value, either good or evil. Thinking about it, Nessy recognized that she didn't just dislike Tiama.

  She really disliked Tiama. Very much so.

  She didn't care for that feeling. She didn't care for it at all. But she managed to push forth a servile smile.

  "Yes, madam. The master is eager as well."

  The moment Sir Thedeus had delivered the final blow, his curse overtook him. But being a bat kept him low to the ground, which turned out to be an advantage. The hellhound shrieked a tormented howl, bursting into a tower of white, white flame. Choking ash and suffocating smoke quickly filled the chambers, spreading to the rest of the armory.

  Coughing, Gnick wiped the grime from his eyes. "Now I'll never clean it up."

  "Had to be done, lad." Sir Thedeus did his best to breathe through his nose, but he could taste the ash collecting in his mouth.

  The underworld creature's flesh had been consumed. Only its blackened bones remained. The Sword in the Hell-Hound said, "Oh my, that was marvelous fun, wasn't it?"

  "Aye."

  "Never, ever," muttered Gnick.

  Dozens of bells tolled. The Vampire King stepped through the thick dust. He was now transparent. "What did you do to me?"

  "We freed you from being dragged to the underworld," said the sword.

  "But I'm a ghost."

  "Yer body was eaten," said Sir Thedeus. "Still, yer not in hell. So I would think some gratitude would be in order."

  "Gratitude? I was Lord of the Undead. Now I'm just a ghost." The King snarled. "It's a demotion."

  "Never, ever, never," said Gnick.

  "Nessy, lass. We've done it!" Sir Thedeus considered this victory hers as much as his. A good soldier worked best with a good general, and she had come up with the plan. "Nessy, where are ye?"

  "Never, ever, ever, ever."

  "Oh shut your gob. And for heaven's sakes, man, get some rest. You look as if you could use it."

  Gnick nearly replied that as a sil
ver gnome, it was his sacred responsibility to never rest until his task was done. But the ash in his throat buried the reply in coughs and sputters. He picked up a dagger coated with soot and wiped it with his sleeve. As his shirt was covered with dust, this accomplished nothing. Gnick, realizing the entire armory was like this, did something unthinkable.

  He headed for his bed of straw to take a nap.

  Sir Thedeus crawled along as fast as his tiny body would allow. There was no sign of Nessy, and while she was a busy girl, rarely did she leave without notice. This troubled him greatly, though he trusted she could take care of herself.

  He muttered an ancient protective prayer he'd thought he'd long ago forgotten. But by then the ash had settled to the floor and caught on his tongue so that he couldn't complete it. An ill omen. He didn't believe in omens, but just to be safe, he repeated the prayer. And though the soot and dust turned to mud in his mouth, he stifled his stammers until it was finished.

  SEVENTEEN

  Nessy possessed a sixth sense when it came to problems. There was nothing supernatural about it, merely equal parts logic and preparedness. These two traits allowed her to plan for possibilities that even she was surprised to discover she'd readied for. It was her gift: a mind that was always deciphering and formulating, even when she wasn't consciously aware of it. Without it, the castle would've fallen apart long ago.

  She hadn't expected Tiama to show herself, but when the wizardess did, Nessy wasn't surprised either. And everything was in order for the protean sludge's charade. It waited (with Echo) in Margle's study. Nessy led Tiama through the castle to that very destination. Neither said a word. Tiama was such an emptiness of presence, she made no sound at all. She glided silently across the brick, and if she breathed, she did so without rustling the folds of her robe. The drafts flowing through the halls dared not caress her either. She was like a ghost. Worse, for all the ghosts Nessy knew were anxious to prove their existence with a rattled chain or a moan or even just a slight drop in temperature. There was none of that with Tiama.

  Only the click of Nessy's claws and the thumping footfalls of the nurgax were heard. But whenever Nessy glanced back, Tiama was there. She stared straight ahead, never looking at Nessy, as if she already knew where to go, as if merely allowing Nessy to play the guide.

  But why was the wizardess playing? Over and over, Nessy thought of the question. Over and over, she couldn't answer it. Her mind was sharp, but it wasn't very good at deception. Lying was something one did when one didn't have any other choice. Unless one was stupid, and Tiama wasn't stupid.

  Nessy paused before the study door. "This way, madam. The master is waiting."

  "Waiting." Tiama said the word with a grin. Possibly.

  Nessy led the wizardess inside and shut the door behind them with a soft click. The study was, for some unfathomable reason, one of the darkest chambers in the castle. Its true size was impossible to measure because the dim candlelight didn't reveal any walls. Just a desk, a chair, three very tall shelves, and nothing else. Nessy knew it was large. She'd seen Margle more than once walk into its darkness, muttering to himself. His voice would grow distant for a long time, only to rise again. He usually returned with scrolls or magic scepters or other wizardly things. But once, he'd come back with his robe in tatters and black blood coating his hands. Whatever was in the dark, Nessy thought it best left alone.

  The protean sludge sat behind the desk. The chair was turned at an awkward angle, allowing barely a glimpse of Margle's silhouette. At that moment, in that dimness, she could very easily imagine it was her old master, and if she was fooled, then perhaps Tiama might be as well.

  In the darkness, Tiama's eyes shone bright red. They cast splinters of light that sliced through the study. Though she probably just imagined it, Nessy could smell the shadows burning.

  She prostrated herself on the floor. "Master, your guest has arrived."

  "I know that, beast. Do you think I'm blind?" Only Margle's lips moved. The words were stilted and harsh, as if the sludge disliked speaking them. It was a quality not far from the original's true cadence.

  "No, master. Sorry, master."

  Nessy response was a reflex. There was no need to act.

  "Dog, how dare you insult me in front of a guest. I should have you ground into paste and fed to the dung drakes, only that would be too kind a fate for so pathetic a thing as you."

  "My apologies, master."

  "Apologies? Does the cockroach apologize to the Titan that crushes it underfoot? Does the peasant apologize to the tidal wave that razes his village?"

  "No, master. Yes, master."

  Margle chuckled. It was surprisingly lifelike. "Don't waste my time with such idiocy. I am not without mercy, mongrel, but you'll find that I have none for you."

  Tiama spoke up. "Shall I kill this thing for you?"

  "Thank you, but no. I wouldn't want to trouble you."

  "It's no trouble."

  "How very thoughtful, but the creature is too stupid to know better."

  "Ignorance is no excuse. Such sins shouldn't go unpunished."

  Margle made a very rude noise that might've been unintentional. "I quite agree, but whereas disrespect should be met with swift death, I believe stupidity warrants stronger penalty. It shall learn the error of its ways, and it shall never forget them."

  "How shall we best discipline the beast?"

  "Oh no. I couldn't bother you with such trivialities any more than I could ask you to scrub my floors. What sort of host would I be?"

  "What sort indeed?" Whatever Tiama meant by the question remained unclear, for her voice was as smooth and cold as ice. "On the contrary, I do enjoy a good torture. And I've never tormented a kobold before. I've heard they're quite . . ." Her frozen voice cracked to reveal chillier depths. ". . . resilient."

  Echo, to her credit, didn't stammer or stutter, though she must surely have been running out of believable excuses as to why Margle would care if Tiama amused herself with Nessy's pain.

  "I'm afraid you've heard incorrectly. They perish before any true fun can begin."

  "Perhaps you simply aren't subtle enough. No slight intended, but I've found that nothing is so perishable that it can't suffer a great deal. One only needs to be creative."

  This time, Margle did hesitate, and Nessy wondered if Echo had exhausted her supply of reasons. Nessy wondered also just how far she was willing to take this deception. Torture was asking a bit much.

  Margle's voice took on a hard edge. The sludge had grown into an adequate actor under Echo's supervision, and it was, in some ways, more passably human than Margle had ever been.

  "The dog is mine to slay or flay as I see fit."

  It was a perfect end to the topic, and Tiama shrugged as if she couldn't care less. But at the same time, she was surely entertaining thoughts of taking away Margle's plaything. Wizards were like petulant children when it came to sharing their toys.

  Nessy bowed deeply. "With your permission, master, I beg your leave. There are matters I must—"

  "Silence, beast. You'll not escape my judgment so easily." Margle pointed to a spot by a bookshelf. "Wait until I'm ready to deal with you."

  She did as she was told, petting the nurgax while she waited. Tiama spoke freely, as Nessy had expected. When not being insulted or threatened, a lowly servant was considered beneath notice by these great and powerful wizards.

  Margle rose, walked to the shelf, and pulled out a book. Simple an act though it was, it was a remarkable feat to have taught the sludge. Nessy realized how much grace was found in even a clumsy creature, and the sludge lacked that grace. There wasn't anything obviously faulty with its movements. They were simply too awkward, yet too precise at the same time. It was like watching a machine.

  To her, it was obvious this wasn't Margle, but she speculated on just how soon Tiama might spot the differences. The wizardess didn't seem stupid, but even the mightiest wizardess could be surprisingly obtuse about such talents as reading b
ody language. That sort of research rarely entered their field of study. And, of course, much of it depended on just how well Tiama knew Margle. He'd never mentioned her, but that didn't mean much. Margle had never talked to Nessy. Merely ordered and threatened.

  "I trust you have enjoyed your tour," said Margle.

  Tiama yawned. Her mouth formed a perfect circle. "There have been some charming . . . diversions."

  Margle held the book before him as if he didn't know what to do with it. "My apologies for not being there to escort you personally. I'm afraid some unexpected business came up. You know how it is."

  "Indeed I do, but Nessy has been a most courteous guide. I dare say, she might know your castle better than you."

  "Perhaps." Margle smiled without humor. He turned very deliberately, paced to the chair, and sat down again. "I do hate to cut your visit short, but that business has yet to be resolved. I'm far too occupied to be a proper host. Perhaps we could schedule a continuation for another day."

  "I think not. I've seen everything worth seeing." She stepped forward and put her hands on the desk. "There's little here of any worth to me. Your monsters, your fallen heroes, your little machines, they're nothing."

  "Now see here . . ." But Margle's words lacked the fury to back them up.

  "Oh quiet down, you pathetic thing. Did you truly think I could be duped by this novelty? Nessy, I'm deeply disappointed in you."

  For a moment, Nessy considered denying that she'd tried anything. But Tiama hadn't been fooled, and Nessy didn't see any reason to continue the charade.

  Echo wasn't as quick to abandon the plan.

  "I would thank you to address me and not—"

  Tiama put her hand on Margle's shoulder. The sludge convulsed. It contorted into a double of Tiama, shrieked an earsplitting moan, and twisted away from the wizardess's fatal touch. A sizable portion was left in Tiama's hand. It crumbled to ash, and she wiped it on her robe. The living portion of sludge fell into a yellow puddle, bubbling and steaming.