Kesh shook his head. Whatever reasons the addled old lord had for such an effort mattered little in the end. Kesh had discovered what Vinnicus wanted to know and managed to protect his future plans with Sacha in the bargain.
Sacha… Kesh let the name roll through his mind as he considered the princess. It was imperative that he continue building her dependency on and trust in him. Her constant suspicion was tedious to be sure. In addition, her show of distaste for his company was tiresome, but he knew it was only a matter of time before she came around and would be his. He had seen the passion in her eyes and knew the truth. In another month, perhaps two, she would be ready to have more engaging conversations, and then from there they would—
The slowly rocking carriage came to a bone-jarring halt, interrupting Kesh’s rumination and flinging him to the floorboards with a surprised cry.
Furious, Kesh rubbed his bruised ribs and inspected his clothes for rips and tears. “I say!” he shouted at the ceiling where the driver sat. “What’s the meaning of this?”
Silence answered him.
“Ham-fisted son of a dwarf-spawned troll-lover,” Kesh muttered as he pushed himself from the floor.
“Suey! Suey, sue!” a familiar voice floated in through the open window.
Terror constricted the chancellor’s throat. He scrambled on his knees and carefully peeked out the window into the night.
“Here piggy, piggy!” Jagger DeBoucher’s hateful, sneering voice bounced from the night-blackened buildings, but the man himself was nowhere to be seen.
Wide eyed, Kesh looked left and right, searching desperately.
“Ah, there you are, my piglet!”
Kesh froze. He still couldn’t see Jagger, though the deadly rogue sounded close.
The door on the opposite side of the carriage tore open so forcefully that one of the hinges ripped away from the frame. A meaty hand darted in and grabbed hold of the chancellor’s ankle.
Kesh screamed, clawing desperately at the seats and flooring in an attempt to remain within the safe confines of the carriage. The velvety cushions tore away from the seats as he was dragged implacably from the carriage and slammed to the damp cobbles of the street.
Two sets of rough hands jerked the chancellor off the ground before he could attempt to crawl under the carriage. The night swam in his vision as he was spun in place to confront his attackers. Jagger stood mere feet away, flanked by a giant, shadowy figure. Kesh knew him.
Bon.
Chills raced down Kesh’s spine as he met Bon’s glaring, beady eyes. The chancellor would never forget the chortling delight the giant fat man had taken, stomping the life out of one of Jagger’s henchmen at Micount Wartel’s city-waste facility. Micount himself had watched the display with all of the empathy of a snake until a curt order to the big man had ceased the gleeful slaughter as abruptly as a curtain dropped on a play. No, Bon’s presence did not bode well for Kesh’s future. The chancellor gulped and glanced at Jagger.
Times had been good to the bandit leader, it would seem. Gone were the travel-stained leather, mismatched armor, and fur cape that had been Jagger’s only clothes during the trek from Ordair’s keep. He was now wearing a white shirt with billowing sleeves, cuffed at each wrist, under a tight-fitting maroon vest that complemented his roughly muscled body. His hair was clean and pulled away from the widow’s peak into a tight tail gathered at the nape of his neck. Finely made black pants were tucked into calf-high boots of dark leather, and a saber hung low at his side. One fist was planted on his hip, while the other held a long, slender stick in a negligent grip.
Dread crept through Kesh as he recognized the stick. It was the same one Jagger had tormented him with on the long march from the jungle fortress.
Jagger’s long scar pulled one corner of his mouth down into a familiar sneer as he spoke. “You’ve been a bad little piglet.”
Kesh’s mouth went dry. His normally glib tongue failed him as he grasped aimlessly for something to say. He had feared this day would come but had hoped and prayed it would not.
After his men had died that night in Micount’s facility, Jagger had disappeared. Months had passed with no sign of the man. Kesh had assumed Banlor had resolved any desire Jagger might have had for vengeance and sent the thief on his way. How wrong he had been. Micount Wartel’s men being here and obviously working with Jagger might as well have been a death sentence signed by Lord Banlor himself.
Jagger’s mocking leer deepened as he stepped closer to the chancellor. “I’m thinkin’ you hadn’t counted on seein’ me again.” The stick accentuated the thief’s words, jabbing painfully into Kesh’s belly. “That makes this all the better.”
The stabbing pain of the goading stick blended with the fear twisting in his gut. Kesh cried out and tried to fall to his knees, but the two bruisers flanking him held him fast. “Wait,” he wailed, finally finding words. “This is all just a misunderstanding.”
Jagger laughed openly at that. “Yes, the misunderstanding was mine, but no longer, my piglet.” He rammed the branch into Kesh again, this time with such force that the stick broke in half with a crunching snap. “Now the misunderstanding is yours.” Jagger tapped Kesh lightly on the nose with the sundered piece of wood.
Kesh gasped under the assault. He desperately searched his scattered thoughts for something that might save his life, some offer the brigand couldn’t refuse, some threat that would stay Jagger’s hand. Only chaos came to his panic-addled brain.
“You see.” Vicious glee stretched Jagger’s scar as he moved closer. “Our employer is no longer in need of your services.” He took hold of the chancellor’s shoulders roughly, his rank breath permeating the air between them. “I must go north on business for your ‘previous’ employer, but before I go, I wanted to pay my last respects.” Jagger continued to smile as he smashed his knee into Kesh’s groin.
Agony rocked through the chancellor. This time he was allowed to fall to his knees, drooling and hacking as he went. All thoughts of escape or trickery fled him. The pain between his legs dominated all thought and feeling.
Kesh wasn’t sure how long he had lain there, paralyzed in body and mind, but he heard every word Jagger whispered into his ear. “Your arms and legs will be the first to go, my piglet. Tourniquets at the elbows and knees, of course. We don’t want you to bleed out before the hogs have a go at you, do we? Then, after your stomach has been eaten, you’ll be dangled just out of reach to die a slow and blissfully painful death.”
Kesh whimpered, unable to speak as pain and terror took control of his reason.
“See him to the pens,” Jagger commanded, mounting his horse. “I will join you shortly.” He snatched up the reins and wheeled away.
Giant hands seized Kesh by the collar and pants. Bon hoisted him into the air with a wheezing giggle and lumbered toward a waiting night-soil cart. Kesh’s elegant carriage slipped away in the night, abandoned except for the dead coachman who slumped on the driver’s bench, throat cut.
Kesh flailed weakly against Bon’s muscled arms to no avail. Tears overtook him as hope fled, and his deep, agonized wails echoed off the dark buildings of the alley.
Bon continued to chuckle at Kesh’s misery. His surprisingly high, whiny voice was mocking when he said, “You’s gonna die!” A small grunt was the only indication of effort Bon gave as he flung Kesh easily into the back of the two-wheeled cart.
Waste and filth smeared the chancellor’s face and clothes upon impact. Kesh gagged as the rank smell filled his senses. He scrabbled weakly in the squelching mush, his hands plunging deeply into the filth as he managed to turn himself over. The putrid scent was no better from his new position, but at least his face was no longer buried in the muck.
A pair of Jagger’s henchmen took places at the rear of the cart, propping their wooden shovels across their shoulders as if they were swords. Bon clambered into the driver’s seat. The cart creaked ominously under the fat man’s immense weight, but it held.
Kes
h began to crawl toward the open end. “Please,” he managed, voice quivering. “Please help me. I can pay.”
A wooden shovel crashed down on the chancellor’s head, sparking fireflies in his vision and setting him back onto the floorboards. Neither of the men said a word as they each rained blows down on him, striking hard enough to drive him back but not hard enough to kill him.
Bon’s perverse laughter could be heard over the thwacking cuffs. “Pat, flat,” he screeched gleefully.
When the brutal assault ceased, Bon whipped the mules into motion. Kesh kept his eyes closed against the horror of his situation, but he felt the soft impacts of horse droppings and other, more noisome things from the street as the pair of thugs occasionally flung leavings into the cart with him. Their jeering laughter melded with Bon’s chuckling hoots and half-heard rhymes.
Tears leaked from the chancellor’s closed eyes. His mind reeled, clutching at desperate straws looking for escape. If he could contact Vinnicus, then maybe—but no. Even though his new benefactor was undoubtedly powerful enough to free him, he was still just a man. There was no way Vinnicus could know what had befallen Kesh and precious little reason to actually hope that he might care enough to act. This is the end, Kesh thought in misery. Where Jagger had gone Kesh had no clue, but his own destination he knew all too well. He peeked over the side of the cart as Bon guided the mules around a corner into a steep switchback that led down to the waterfront district.
Two towers rose from the low, crooked roofs of the sprawling warehouses near the water’s edge. One was tall enough to approach the height of a young winewood tree, while the other fell well short but was still at least a hundred feet above the tallest building.
The shorter spire was Micount’s air tower. Instead of drawing smoke, soot, and sickening odors out, the air tower had been built to bring fresh air in by pairing the tower with an elaborate contraption involving a water wheel and bladed fan. The result was that Micount’s offices were fresh and sweet smelling even in the heart of a facility that provided manual sewerage for at least a third of the city.
We can’t be that close already, Kesh thought desperately, breaking into a cold sweat under the filth that caked his face and hair.
He glanced at the two men strolling behind the cart. Blessedly, the rugged pair had tired of the sport of flinging street waste at him. Now they walked close together, sharing quiet words that Kesh could only hear as an indistinct mutter past the rumble of the steel rims on the stone cobbles.
Maybe, Kesh thought, carefully placing one hand under him. If he could act suddenly enough, he might be able to leap from the cart and dash past them before they had a chance to react. If he made it that far, he was certain he could outrun both the disreputable-looking villains and lose himself in the sleeping streets.
As if reading his mind, the bruiser on his left smiled. Horribly crooked teeth glinted in the torchlight. He hefted his blunt shovel and pointed it at Kesh. “Now you just relax, piggy.”
The other man nodded with a snide grin. His lazy eye strayed to the side as if possessing a mind of its own.
“We’ll have no attempts from you to get away,” Crooked-teeth continued. “Jagger was very specific about you bein’ delivered in one piece, but he didn’t mention no lack of bruises or cuts.” A long knife suddenly appeared in his free hand. “At least you don’t have to worry about infection where you’re goin’.”
The other thug laughed out loud. “Don’t look so glum, piggy,” Lazy-eye yelled. “It’ll only hurt real bad.” Both men fell to laughing, jeering, and slapping each other on the shoulders and arms.
Bon joined their laughter as he guided the mule cart into a narrow alley that descended even more steeply to the waiting docks. A grinding squeal buried all their mirth as Bon applied the handbrake to control the descent of the cart.
Kesh glared at the two shadowy men, wishing slow and painful death upon them. If only he possessed the means to make such a wish come true.
The pair had settled into an easy gait when Crooked-teeth simply...vanished.
Kesh blinked and rubbed his eyes then looked again. Stare though he might, he could find no sign of the man.
A soft sound, like a wet sack ripping open, rolled from the darkness of the nearby shadows. A warm spray showered Kesh’s face. The metallic tang of fresh blood suddenly fought with the overriding stench of the cart.
Lazy-eye stood in shock, covered in his friend’s blood, as the cart steadily pulled away.
Kesh shook his head slowly as hope and new fear both began to rise in his chest. Traumatic events could make a man’s mind see things that were not there, he knew. Maybe he was suffering some mad, cruel hallucination the gods had sent to make him think there was some hope after all. To reassure his fragile mind, he raised a shaking hand to his face and touched the slippery moisture that was so much more supple than mere water. When he pulled his fingers away, the blood that covered them looked as real as the wooden cart he rode in.
Lazy-eye turned in place, his shadow dancing against the moonlit street as he spun and craned about. “Tidwell?” he called. “Where’d ya go?!”
As if the thug’s confusion was verification that Tidwell was actually gone, hope pushed past fear. Maybe this was no illusion. Bits of filth dropped from Kesh as he sat forward and craned his head about, searching for some sign of the missing man.
“Tidwell?!” Lazy-eye shouted again, his voice laced with fear. “This ain’t funny! Tidwell, where are ya?”
Bon pulled on the handbrake, bringing the cart to a stop. The springs supporting the bench squealed, and weathered wood groaned in protest as the huge man turned in his seat. “Quits messin’ around, Clancy!”
“I ain’t messin’ around,” Clancy said, still swiveling his head warily. “Tidwell’s... gone!”
Bon took a moment to scan the cobblestone street with Kesh and Clancy. Just enough moonlight reflected into the alley for Kesh to see Bon’s eyes sink farther into the pallid flesh as the fat man narrowed his eyes. Bon abruptly turned around and released the handbrake. The mules brayed loudly as he whipped them savagely into motion.
Kesh fell to the muck-laden floor once again as the cart lurched forward, leaving Clancy behind in the street.
“Hey!” the bruiser yelled as the cart clattered and bounced down the alley, picking up speed as the mules tried to get away from Bon’s lashing. Clancy cast away the shovel and began to run after them, legs and arms pumping wildly.
Kesh watched as Clancy fell farther behind. With Tidwell gone and Clancy in a panic, Kesh could leap from the racing cart. If he didn’t break his neck, he might just get away. There was no way Bon could run as fast as Kesh, and the cart couldn’t possibly turn in this alley to give chase.
Kesh edged his way to the back edge of the bouncing cart and glanced up to check how far Clancy had fallen behind. Even running at top speed, Clancy continued to lose ground.
Kesh smiled. I will escape you, Banlor. He didn’t know what had befallen the other man, Tidwell, but at the moment, he didn’t care. Kesh knew his fate if he stayed in the cart. On the run, he at least would have a chance.
The distinctive gleam of metal glinted off one of the buildings behind Clancy. It was high up, close to the roof, but then suddenly it fell to the street.
Kesh squinted to get a better look at what had fallen and gasped. It was a person, or something that looked like a person. No actual human could survive such a fall, much less remain standing as if the drop was of no concern whatsoever.
The shadowy figure blurred into motion.
Only once had Kesh seen anything move with that kind of speed: Kinsey, after he had transformed into that monstrous thing at Ordair’s Keep. The troublesome beast had moved so quickly that he had appeared as nothing more than a dark blur. As with Kinsey, this creature streaked across the road, etching a bar of shadow in its wake. The dark force slammed into Clancy and then, within the blink of an eye, both were gone.
Kesh clawed backward over
the foul mounds of waste to slam his back into the driver’s bench. “Mother of Eos,” he gasped.
The mule cart thundered from the narrow alley into a crossing street. Bon shouted as he applied the handbrake and a vicious tug to the reins to execute a sliding turn. Kesh tumbled helplessly into the rough walls of the cart as the metal-bound wheels screeched in protest. Whip cracks and the braying of the mules echoed down the street as Bon mercilessly hammered at the team to push them even faster.
Kesh clawed at the pile of filth that had rolled on top of him, trying to dig his way free.
A deafening blow rocked the cart forcefully to one side. Splintered wood filled the air as Kesh and the contents of the bed were flung violently to the street. The crash of the cart and screams of the mules echoed through the empty thoroughfare.
Kesh rolled to a stop, feeling every stone in the street. As his head cleared, anger surged. This is not my lot, he thought resentfully as he clambered painfully to his knees. I am not meant for the shit pile.
Anger gave him courage, and he looked defiantly toward the cart, hoping to see Bon bleeding and broken. The big man would have fallen harder; there was no night soil to cushion his fall. His hopeful gaze found, instead, the tall, night-cloaked form of Vinnicus. His master had come for him after all.
Kesh was so stunned that he could only stare in open-mouthed surprise.
Vinnicus was as motionless as always, his restless, twitching cloak providing the only proof of life. Kesh had not seen it cease its rhythmic sway regardless of the absence of wind or its owner’s movement. Frozen lips reluctantly split apart as Vinnicus finally spoke. “It would appear you have found information of considerable note. Otherwise your previous master would not be so eager to see you dead.”
Book of Sacha: Dark Fate (The Dark Fate Chronicles 3) Page 10