Silver Serpent

by Michael DeAngelo

  She sat down beside him and carefully uncoiled the bandages on his shoulder. “Why don’t we leave this place?”

  “The tavern?”

  “The tavern, the district, the whole city. We can get away from all this before it erupts into something Jerrod can’t control. We could travel the countryside; we could even start over in Peritas. Don’t you want a life where you don’t have to worry about whether the guards will remember you in the daylight hours?”

  “You would leave the place you call home just to come with me away from this madness?” Thoro asked.

  “We could find a new place to call home.”

  The bandit winced as the last bit of bandage was tugged free of that wound. When he looked to the side there, however, he noticed it wasn’t as grotesque as he had expected. The deep puncture had turned into a fleshy protrusion. He lifted his arm, testing his mobility.

  “It’s not great, but it’ll do,” he said.

  Brielle smiled at him. “I’m sure it’s a small price to pay for a rugged scar.” She cupped her hands around his face and planted a kiss upon his lips.

  “As long as I can still use my hands, everything is all right.”

  “You can use your hands, your lips, anything you want,” she teased. She kissed him again but separated from him a moment later. “So, what do you think about my plan?”

  “Leaving Argos behind us?”

  “You know what’ll happen, don’t you?” she pressed. “The guild will step too far, and there will be war in the streets. What happened to you when you fought the Silver Serpent will be nothing compared to what will happen when Nathaniel sends his armies into the city to draw out the people who would stand against him.”

  The lad sighed and bowed his head. “You’re right. It’s not safe here anymore. But these kinds of things are all I know. Starting over somewhere else, where we don’t have the Brotherhood to watch over us—”

  “That Brotherhood is dead,” Brielle insisted. “No one has anyone’s interest in mind but themselves anymore. Starting over is the only chance any of us have.”

  Thoro opened his mouth to speak again, but the door to the room slammed open, and that wild-eyed magician was standing on the opposite side.

  “Just the eager lad I was looking for,” Jerrod said. “I have the perfect mission for you, Thoro. Put on your shirt and come see me, and we’ll get you briefed on the task at hand.”

  The door was left open, and Thoro heard the raucous laughter from the adjacent room. He rose from his place on the bed and collected his shirt. As he made his way toward the exit, he turned back to Brielle. “We’ll talk about your plan when I return.”

  He couldn’t help thinking that his return was not something set in stone.

  *****

  That musty room smelled more atrocious than the sewers near Tanner’s Row ever could, he wagered. It was the first time he had stepped foot in that examiner’s office, even though he had spent some time with him over the past week discussing the bodies that had shown up across the city.

  “Schaefer?” Gerard called out. As soon as he spoke, that odor overwhelmed him further, invading his body through his throat.

  “I’m back here,” the coroner answered. “Some interesting things happened to the first woman since we last saw one another.”

  The constable made his way through that building, until he reached a room in the far back. Wooden tables were lined up in an orderly row, and two bodies were strewn out upon a pair of them.

  Somehow, drawing closer to the bodies seemed to make the sour aroma dissipate. The old coroner stood beside the woman who had been found first. He wore a long apron and goggles, but nothing covered his face. He didn’t seem bothered by the smell either, even though he peered through his spectacles into the woman’s eyes, mere inches away from her face.

  “What do you mean by interesting?” Gerard wondered.

  Schaefer chortled at the simple response. “I don’t mean she’s gotten up and moved about. But Esme is finding ways to tell us what happened to her. You’ll recall we saw the contusions on her throat that indicated she had been forcibly held underwater while she drowned, yes?”

  The constable nodded wearily, and he looked down at that cold, rigid body. Somehow, despite the cruel way she was killed, Esme looked to be at peace. “I do. We’re dealing with a monster here,” he insisted.

  “Well, we didn’t understand just how monstrous he was until recently. Lift up the drape and take a look.”

  Gerard arched an eyebrow as he looked at the coroner. With a reassuring nod, Schaefer indicated toward the blue cloth that covered Esme’s lower body. Timidly, the constable lifted that material, but he barely looked at the dead woman beneath it.

  “Go on,” Schaefer said. “It’s important.”

  Swallowing away the tension that built up in his throat, Gerard did as instructed. With a gentle touch, he grasped the woman’s thigh and pulled the drape up over her waist. The coroner was correct in his assumption. There was something worth talking about.

  Dark blue bruises were apparent across her groin, nowhere denser than squarely betwixt her legs. Gerard felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment, but he stared at those contusions with his teeth gnashed and his jaw squared.

  “It seems our killer wanted more from Esme than just her life.”

  The constable slid his hand away from her leg and set the cloth back in place, covering her body. “What about the other woman?” he asked. “Can we tell if she was treated the same way?”

  Schaefer moved away from Esme and stood at the end of the table beside that second victim. “I’ve been treating her a little bit better than Esme,” he revealed. “I’ve been keeping her in the cabinets here—preserved, thanks to the magic of some of the academy’s wizards. Since we don’t know who she is yet, I figured we could do most of our research on Esme, but I believe we’re exhausting our resources with her.

  “The bruises aren’t as apparent with this one as with the other poor soul. But if I had to guess, I would say this one received the same treatment. It might have even been worse.”

  “Worse?” Gerard wondered.

  The coroner nodded. “With Esme, our killer moved fast and discarded her body without care. As I said before, it was likely a crime of passion—something that happened sharp and fast. But with our second victim, he took more time. She wasn’t left where just anyone could happen upon her. No, he planned for her to be found in that fountain. He wanted her body to be discovered, when he could have brought it out into the wilderness to hide away forever.

  “Sad to say, he probably had time with her,” Schaefer went on. “Whatever he did to Esme, he probably did worse to this poor girl.”

  Gerard shook his head. “What could drive someone to do something like this? Was it rage? Lust?”

  “No, nothing so trivial makes a man do something so vile,” the coroner explained. “The urges, those deep emotions? They’re nothing compared to the feeling of power someone experiences when they exert themselves on another. That control makes them feel like a deity, but their actions turn them into a monster.”

  Both men heard the door of the office creak open, and then slam shut a moment later. Gerard let his hand land on the hilt of his sword, and he drew it halfway up out of the scabbard.

  When the scabby face of the familiar woman came into view, the constable breathed a sigh of relief and let go of his weapon. “What are you doing here, madam?”

  Thea wore a stern visage and put her hands on her hips. “I had heard that you found Esme in the canals the other night. Why did you not come to us sooner to give us the terrible news? Helen had already gone off on her own and—”

  “Easy there,” Gerard said. “We said nothing because we were still conducting an investigation. Truth be told, we weren’t sure we wanted her to be seen in this condition. And with the second body showing up, we’ve had our hands full.”

  “Then it’s true,” she croaked. “There’s more trouble afoot in Argos
than just a jilted would-be lover. Maybe it isn’t Ormund after all.” Thea stepped to the side, then, and all the color washed away from her face.

  “What is it?” the constable asked.

  The hag pointed to the second body, and that fierce gaze she wore turned into a dejected frown. At once she began sobbing. “It’s her. It’s Helen!”

  *****

  “All I’m saying is that nobody could have predicted just how dashing I would have been. I practically chased him into that well, and then I exercised diplomacy my father would have been proud of.” Kelvin leaned back and slammed the heels of his fancy boots upon that long table.

  The tutor and the pupil were alone in the grand library, the morning sunlight pouring into a window on the east wall. That radiance cascaded onto the long red and gold carpet in such a way that little designs seemed to play about the ground. Kelvin kept his attention there, but Marin slammed the largest of their books against the table, stirring the lad from his distraction.

  “If I have to hear one more time about your encounter with the Titan, I’ll heave myself out that window.”

  The prince narrowed his eyes as he looked at his teacher. There was something about her tone that didn’t quite make clear where her stance was on the subject, he thought.

  “So there I was, alone in the alleyway, when a man barreled down on me like an angry rhinotaur.”

  She blew out an exasperated sigh as she dropped into her seat across the table from him. The teacher didn’t bother to look at her student but was not blind to the smug smirk upon his face. Marin flipped the front cover of the book open and spun the text about, pushing it closer to the future king.

  “I’m glad you weren’t squashed like a bug out there, my lord,” came her sardonic remark. “But it may have done everyone well if you didn’t let your hubris get the better of you.”

  “Hubris?” he asked.

  She leaned forward and poked her finger at an entry in the book.

  Kelvin arched his eyebrow and looked at his educator. “You’re presenting me with a dictionary?”

  “Back to basics,” she said. “Ever since your run-in with Marcus, you haven’t been able to concentrate for more than five minutes.”

  “Shouldn’t I be celebrating?” he asked. “The strongest man in Argos is in a cell in the prison, and life has gone back to normal. This is a momentous occasion.”

  “The moment has passed,” she teased. “And life in Argos is never normal. What you should be doing is studying. One day, all this nonsense—clad in green with a silly name—will all be over. And you will be king. And a wise king is one who studied!”

  He shrugged. “Perhaps you’re right. Who’s to say green is even my color?” Once more, she poked her finger in that book, and he sighed, bringing his attention there. “Hubris: excessive pride or self-confidence, often leading to one’s downfall. Well, that just sounds like this was written by someone who wasn’t good enough at whatever they were trying to accomplish.”

  “A bit of self-doubt is a good thing, my young prince,” Marin bade. “You can’t guard your back if you’re not looking over your shoulder once in a while.”

  “Oh, very well,” he conceded. “If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll—”

  He stopped, and it wasn’t a surprise why. Another person had entered that grand library, humming loudly. That tune was a hauntingly beautiful one, and the fellow expelled it without pause or care as to who heard it.

  Both teacher and student stood from their seats, moving away from the table and toward the end of the long row of bookcases. There was another lad in that room, and he had his back turned toward the pair. One by one, he pulled books from the shelf he stood before, looked at their front cover, and returned them to their place.

  “Excuse me,” Marin said. “We’re in the middle of a lesson here.” When the lad didn’t turn to acknowledge either of the other folk in the library, the teacher arched her eyebrow. “Well he’s positively rude, isn’t he?”

  Kelvin’s eyes were already aglow with those golden circles. His vision landed on that copper-blond coif on the other side of the room, and his eyebrows flashed as he recognized the visitor by the back of his head and nothing more.

  “Charles?” he said. When the noble’s son didn’t respond, Kelvin drew closer and repeated himself. “Charles, what are you doing here?”

  That redheaded lad spun on his heel and nearly hopped back into the bookcase when he realized he was not alone. “Gah!” he cried.

  The young prince couldn’t stifle a chortle at that sight, but he reined back his amusement. He stood straighter and let his visage settle. “Don’t you know there’s a lesson going on in here right now?”

  “What?” Charles asked. “I’m sorry; my ears are ringing from something that happened last night. I didn’t realize anyone was in here.”

  “What happened to you?” Kelvin asked. That time, he was sure to speak louder, and his peer nodded in appreciation for that adjustment.

  “As you know, it’s the anniversary of your father’s coronation in a few weeks,” the noble said. “My father is intending to host a banquet for King Nathaniel, and he wanted everything to be planned exquisitely. While we Bellweathers are known for being frugal, we also know when it’s time to open our coin purses. Besides lavish refreshment and entertaining activities, my father also wanted to recruit a songstress—a siren of the night, as he called her. But he didn’t want to choose one willy-nilly. So we struck a bargain with the gentlemen that run the music house in Leister Alley. We would hold auditions for singers, and the winner would have the honor of serenading your father.

  “Only, it didn’t go so well.” Charles noticed the subtle flinches as the prince heard his tale. He adjusted his volume and went on. “I was in another room with my father, discussing other business, when my ears started to bleed. All at once, I couldn’t hear as well as a few moments before. When we went into the other room to see if anyone could fetch a healer, we found the other judges dead. And each of them had blood dripping from their ears, just like I did. How I survived is anyone’s guess.”

  “So what brings you here?” Kelvin asked. “Was there something related to last night you were trying to make sense of?”

  Charles nodded. “We couldn’t figure out what killed the judges. The music house was empty except for us when we came back to the auditorium. All the singers were gone, and there was no trace of any foul deeds. And I don’t know why I survived and the judges didn’t. Furthermore, I can’t explain why my father didn’t suffer at all. He was uninjured throughout the event.

  “When we returned to our manor, my mother spouted off all kinds of nonsense. Witchcraft and sorcery and evil spirits—any of them could have been responsible for the awful things that transpired in that music house. Unfortunately, they closed the place off after we left and summoned the guards. They want to run an investigation, but apparently, the constable is busy with another strange case in the city. All we’re left with is speculation. And of course, my mother’s speculation is greater than anyone else’s. She put it in my mind that an evil witch may have planted a mandragora in the auditorium, but I’ve never heard of one. They’re plants that scream loud enough to cause bodies to explode. I was hoping a book in the great library could give me more information.”

  Perplexed by the information, but aware of what new magic was present in Argos, the prince brought his hand to his chin, stroking the peach fuzz there. “You said they closed off the music house, right? Are there guards patrolling there or anything?”

  “What was that?” Charles asked.

  Kelvin waved his hands. “Don’t worry about it. Feel free to keep investigating the books. Maybe you’ll find the information about your mandra…whatever. I hope your ears heal in due time, my friend.”

  “Thank you, My Prince,” the other lad said. “And I do apologize again for interrupting your lesson. I seem to have a distracted mind today.”

  “And for good reason, it seems.” Ke
lvin turned and returned to Marin. His teacher had fallen back to rest on the nearest long table, taking weight off her leg.

  “What was that all about?” she asked.

  The prince clicked his tongue. “Can no one hear quite as well as they should today?” he asked with a teasing smirk. “It seems there was some tragedy at the Leister Alley Music House. Several men died, and Charles over there burst his eardrums. Mistress Bellweather—his mother, that is—blames sprites or demons.”

  “But you and I know better than to condemn them when a perfectly good human being could be the cause.” She sighed, and he grew suddenly more alert by that meager sound. “There is something you must be made aware of. If you are to be my apprentice in addition to my pupil, you have to know the conduct of a hero. That means knowing that one hero does not hide a crucial truth from another.”

  “If you say so,” he said, noting the change in her tone.

  “I know what caused the sudden influx of magical powers in the city.”

  “Wasn’t it the aurora that night?”

  She bobbed her head. “But that was only one small part of the puzzle. The rest of it is infinitely more important. An arcane relic of incredible value was pilfered from a place we thought was far safer. The Silver Serpent who preceded me located this item—the Arcanax Compendium—but could not liberate it for the good of mankind. It was my first quest when I took up the mask, and we learned much about it, though perhaps not so much as we should have.

  “Are you familiar with the Kalistrazi?” she asked.

  “The Kali-what?”

  She bore a weary grin. “Many centuries ago, when the first men emerged from the mountains, those who were lucky enough to be vessels for magic absorbed phenomenal power. They were called the Kalistrazi, and their abilities made them incredible forces to be reckoned with. But magic, while it can be beautiful, can also be terrible. Some Kalistrazi did not take their gifts lightly.