Decimus Fate and the Butcher of Guile: (Decimus Fate - Book 2)

by Peter A Flannery

  The Tutor frowned as he looked at the pool of water lying against the wall of the cave.

  ‘It’s a sump,’ said Fate. ‘The pool leads through into the other chamber.’

  The Tutor nodded as Fate looked back at the hole in the wall where a faint glow of light had suddenly appeared.

  ‘Someone’s coming,’ said the sorcerer as he watched the glow of light shining off the slick walls of the adjoining passage. A moment later, a lantern came into view and Fate could just make out the vague shape of a boy’s slender body. ‘It’s Weasel.’

  ‘Is he all right?’ asked the Tutor as he also tried to peer through the hole.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Peering through the hole, they could see the boy’s lantern swaying wildly. Weasel was obviously hurrying, but it was not easy because the wet rock sloped towards the long pool of water that ran down one side of the passage. He was about twenty yards away when he slipped. There was a sudden cry, followed by a splash as he dropped his lantern and fell into the water. The meagre light wavered and went out, but even as it died, Fate saw the vague outline of a second figure, a large figure with pale skin that shone with a weak silvery light.

  As Fate stared into the darkness they heard the echoing sounds of Weasel splashing about and struggling in water.

  ‘Help!’ came a gurgling cry.

  As the tunnel went black, Fate looked down at the charm bracelet on his wrist. In the cave it was now too dark to see the bracelet clearly, but then Fate closed his eyes and one of the charms began to glow. The small charm was in the form of a firefly. Reaching to his wrist, Fate quickly removed the charm as another bubbling cry reverberated down the stone passage towards them.

  ‘He’s drowning!’ said the Tutor. ‘We have to get to him.’

  ‘But Weasel’s a good swimmer,’ murmured Daisy from the mouth of the cave.

  ‘The sump,’ said Fate as the glowing firefly now hovered over his hand. ‘You’ll have to go through the sump.’

  ‘Can that thing go underwater?’ asked the Tutor but Fate shook his head.

  ‘I need to maintain eye contact.’

  ‘Then I’ll have to feel my way.’

  The Tutor’s tone was resolute, but the idea of swimming through a submerged passage in total darkness, with only a vague idea of where he might emerge, was terrifying.

  ‘No,’ said Fate. ‘We can see where the sump leads, and I can send the light into the passage. If I keep it close to the water you might be able to see the glow.’

  The Tutor gave a nod and quickly removed his sword and anything else that might snag on the rock. He pulled off his boots, slipped into the cold water and was just about to go under when Weasel’s frantic splashing and cries for help were suddenly cut off.

  ‘Weasel!’ cried Daisy, but Fate was not listening.

  Frowning in concentration, he sent the firefly charm flying through the hole in the wall and along the adjoining passage, keeping it close to the water as the Tutor ducked his head beneath the surface of the pool.

  ‘I can see it,’ he said. ‘Keep it there.’ Then, taking a deep breath he plunged into the pool and began to swim towards the faint glow of light that he could see through the surprisingly clear water.

  Fate was controlling the firefly charm with his mind and could only take his eyes off it for brief periods of time. Flicking his gaze away from the firefly, he looked for any sign of Weasel, but all he saw was the large figure with the faintly glowing skin. The glimpse was fleeting, but it looked like the figure was pulling something out of the water.

  Forcing himself to remain calm, Fate checked to make sure the firefly was still hovering over the water, but this time, when he glanced away from the glowing charm, the pale figure was gone. Clenching his jaw in frustration, he waited for the Tutor to emerge, but there was no sign of the demon hunter.

  There was no sign of him because down there, in the cold dark water of the sump, the Tutor was fighting for his life.

  *

  The water seemed to drag at his clothes as the Tutor swam through the submerged passage towards the faint glow of light from Fate’s charm. He knew it was only about twenty feet, but it felt like much longer and he tried not to think about getting trapped as one of his feet struck a hidden outcrop of rock.

  As he got closer the glow of light grew stronger, but then he saw something pass in front of it… a dark sinuous shape, like a short snake or an eel. Taking another stroke, he dismissed the creature until something cold and slimy brushed against his hand. Another undulating shape passed between him and the light, and another, and then the Tutor let out a bubbling groan as something bit into the bony flesh of his ankle.

  He twisted around, but it was too dark to see anything and then he grunted again as something bit into the back of his neck. He tried to quell a sudden sense of panic as he realized he was under attack. Reaching a hand behind his head, he felt the smooth leathery skin of something attached to his neck. He grabbed the creature and tried to pull it off, but it was firmly attached and the pain was too great. A third creature now clamped onto his hand, while another bit into the muscle of his thigh. More creatures brushed past him in the water and he realized that, far from going to help Weasel, he would be lucky to get out of the water alive.

  Knowing he could not continue, he tried to turn back. Now desperate for air, he instinctively went up only to feel the sense of panic grow stronger as his head bumped against the hard ceiling of stone. Suddenly disorientated, he stared into the darkness, but there was no glow of light to guide him back. Fate’s light was on the other side of the sump and now he was filled with the horrific idea that he might not find his way out.

  Another creature bit him and his head scraped against the roof as he scrabbled his way forward. His lungs burned and his throat convulsed with the urge to breathe and then, finally, the rock was gone and his head broke the surface. He gulped in a mouthful of air and reached for the side of the pool, although he barely had the strength to pull himself out.

  As soon as the Tutor reappeared in the cave, Fate recalled the firefly charm and rushed to the edge of the pool to help him out.

  ‘Eels!’ gasped the Tutor. ‘Been attacked by eels.’

  ‘Not eels,’ grunted Fate as he hauled the demon hunter onto the floor of the storm drain. ‘Subterranean lamprey… No!’ he cried. ‘Don’t try to pull them off!’

  Drawing the white dragon-handled dagger from his belt, Fate took hold of the eel-like creature attached to the Tutor’s neck. The slick, leathery body was strong and the Tutor gasped as the creature’s circular maw of teeth sank deeper into his flesh.

  ‘You have to cut them off,’ said Fate as he severed the first of the lampreys close to its eyeless head.

  The urge to rip the creatures from his body was incredibly strong, but the Tutor tried to remain still as Fate moved from one writhing creature to the next.

  ‘Weasel?’ he asked through gritted teeth, but Fate just shook his head.

  ‘I think he was also attacked by the lampreys.’

  ‘You think he drowned?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Fate, ‘I saw a figure pulling something from the water, but I couldn’t see if it was Weasel.’

  ‘Then he could be alive,’ said the Tutor. ‘We have to go after him.’

  ‘And we will,’ said Fate. ‘But not now.’

  The Tutor began to object then he winced as Fate cut another of the lampreys free.

  ‘No,’ Fate continued. ‘This girl needs help and these lamprey bites won’t stop bleeding until we can remove the heads.’

  The Tutor hated the thought of abandoning Weasel, but Fate was right. Daisy had been badly beaten and there was no way he could swim back through the sump. They would have to find another way.

  ‘Then we need to be quick,’ said the Tutor and, even as Fate cut the last of the lampreys from his body he pulled on his boots, buckled on his sword and stumbled over to Daisy who seemed to be hovering on the edge of sleep. The Tut
or’s body trembled with pain and pent up adrenaline, but still he knelt down and gathered the girl into his arms.

  ‘Hush now,’ he said as she gave a low moan of pain.

  He looked down at her bruised face and felt his heart convulse with grief. This girl could not have been much more than ten, just a few years older than his daughter had been when her life was brutally cut short.

  ‘What kind of men would beat a child?’ he murmured.

  ‘The kind of men who think they’re above the law,’ said Fate as he reattached the firefly charm to the bracelet on his wrist. ‘Now, come on. We need to get back to Blackfell House.’

  It was dark when they emerged from the storm drain. They pushed their way through the blackthorn bushes then stopped as Fate took a moment to get his bearings.

  ‘Look,’ said the Tutor, nodding up along the bank where the shadowy outline of three men was now visible. The three men were heading towards them and they did not need to see his desert robes to know that one of them was the Don’Sha’Vir.

  Despite his injuries, Fate could almost feel the demon hunter’s desire to face them.

  ‘Now is not the time,’ he said. ‘We need to get you back to the house before you lose too much blood.’

  With obvious effort, the Tutor drew his eyes away as Fate headed along the bank in the other direction. The Medicis might be one of the most powerful families in the city, but if Weasel, or this young girl, died then the Medicis would learn that there were limits to the kind of protection that money could buy.

  Reaching the lamp-lit streets of the city, the two men headed back towards Blackfell House and Fate’s housekeeper, who also happened to be a gifted healer.

  *

  As Fate and the Tutor headed for home, Weasel was waking up to a world of dim light and pain.

  The young wayfinder was lying on his back on a flat surface that felt as hard as stone. The horrific memory of drowning in darkness suddenly surged in his mind and he tried to sit up, only to find himself pressed back down by hands of incredible strength. The memory was like something from a nightmare… the darkness… the cold water… and then something biting into his flesh. The sense of panic and terror came rushing back and Weasel began to struggle.

  ‘Hold him,’ said a deep voice and Weasel looked up.

  He was in some kind of cave, a cave that glowed with a ghostly green light. Strong hands were holding him down, but there was someone else in the room and Weasel’s heart almost stopped as a figure loomed over him. The figure was pale and fleshy and bald, but what terrified Weasel most was the object in the figure’s hand. It was a large, almost rectangular knife; the kind of knife used in a meat factory or slaughterhouse.

  And now the terrifying truth dawned… the reckless young wayfinder had been taken by the Butcher of Guile.

  The sharp knife gleamed in the ghostly green light.

  And Weasel screamed.

  17

  Unleashed

  As Fate and the Tutor returned to Blackfell House, the potion-maker Inganno was muttering the words of an enchantment in the lamp-lit gloom of his workshop. His mind burned with an anger that seemed disproportionate to the actions taken against him, but he had always been this way. Even as a child he had refused to acknowledge any boundaries or limits on his freedom. When his mother had threatened to send him away, Inganno had simply killed her.

  Now that same murderous rage was focussed on Fate and the Tutor. Not only had they ruined his plans to have a beautiful and doting wife, they had also tried to rob him of his liberty, and that was inexcusable.

  So now Inganno spoke magical words of power over a large cauldron of hot tar. For hours now he had been rehearsing this enchantment and now he could see that it was beginning to work. The glutinous black substance had begun to thicken and writhe. Smooth canine shapes rose up from the surface as if a liquid wolf were drowning in darkness.

  Without ceasing the enchantment, Inganno picked up a dish containing a mound of powdered diamond. This exotic ingredient was incredibly expensive but it was worth it, and the tar glistened like frost as Inganno sprinkled the powder onto the surface. To this he added a precise measure of mercury. The liquid metal sank quickly into the tar, but now, when the wolf’s head rose from the surface, the teeth shone with a dark silvery light. Sulphur was the next ingredient and the room was filled with a noxious stench as the yellow powder was absorbed by the black viscous tar.

  Inganno shook his head to clear his mind of the fumes. Then, glancing back at the book, he spoke the final enchantment. And as he did so the substance began to flow over the side of the pot. The fire below the pot was no longer lit, but the black substance did not simply drip into the charcoal brazier, it moved with purpose until it formed a wide puddle on the stone floor of the basement.

  In nervous awe, Inganno watched as the puddle rose up assuming the shape of a sleek and powerful hound. Tall as a wolf and shining black, the manitu opened its eyes, eyes that glowed like coals in a fire. It curled a lip to reveal sharp silvery fangs and its claws now scraped against the flagstones like talons of steel.

  The manitu’s gaze suddenly seemed to focus on the potion-maker and Inganno drew back in alarm. It opened its mouth and a sound emerged, half growl and half shriek, like steam forcing its way through a crack in the Earth’s crust. Trying to control his fear, Inganno reached for the two final ingredients… a small clump of the Tutor’s hair and a few scrapings of Fate’s dried blood.

  Placing them in his hand, Inganno made a fist then took a nervous breath as he prepared himself for the last step in the conjuration. He needed to place these samples deep in the manitu’s chest so that it would be able to home in on its targets, but the black tar was hot and he knew this step would be painful.

  Still hesitant, he turned back to the book and read the relevant passage once more.

  Before the manitu cools, the conjurer will add the target’s sample as they speak the final enchantment. With each recitation the medium will grow hotter, but the longer one persists, the more powerful the manifestation will become.

  Finally, he could put it off no longer and with a grimace of anticipation, he pushed his hand into the hound’s black chest. Through gritted teeth, he muttered the final incantation and winced as he felt the tar growing hotter. Another repetition and he could take no more. His willpower crumbled and, with a gasp of pain, he withdrew his hand and plunged it into a pitcher of cool rapeseed oil that was standing nearby.

  As the pain subsided, Inganno turned to look at the hound. Standing in the middle of his workshop, the terrifying creature raised its black muzzle as if it were scenting the air. Black lips curled back from silvery teeth then it turned towards the door and its glowing eyes flared. Wiping his scalded arm on a towel, Inganno moved to open the steel door, but there was no need.

  With barely a sound, the powerful hound walked towards the door and then, even as Inganno watched, its form dissolved to form a black puddle on the floor. The puddle glistened with diamond dust and swirls of mercury before sliding forward to seep under the door.

  Both fascinated and frightened, Inganno opened the door and watched as the shimmering puddle rose back up into the form of the hound. He tried to follow it up the cellar stairs but it was too quick for him and, by the time he had caught up to it, the hound had torn a hole in his front door which was only made of wood. Apparently, the hound found it easier to break through rather than melting under as it had with the metal door in the cellar.

  Now it stood at the top of the steps leading down into the street. For a moment it looked like a nightmarish dog awaiting its night-time walk, but then it raised its head to sniff the air and its chest glowed as it sensed the direction of its quarry. For just a moment it turned to look at the man who had conjured it and Inganno’s heart quailed at the murderous light in its glowing eyes, and then it sped off into the night and Inganno slumped back against the splintered remains of his front door.

  The hellish creature loped like a wolf through t
he twisting streets of Guile. From a distance it looked like a large black dog and few people gave it a second glance, never looking closely enough to see that its skin was hairless and shining black, or that its eyes gleamed like furnace coals. Only when the hound ran into a pack of feral dogs did it encounter any kind of resistance.

  The street dogs snarled at the intruder, but the normal process of intimidation had no effect. When the hound did not retreat, the pack surrounded it and the pack-leader lunged forward even as two of the other dogs attacked from the rear.

  With the speed of a seasoned pitbull, the hound reared back, avoiding the pack leader’s teeth and striking out with the talons of a front paw. The silvery talons were longer and sharper than any dog’s claws and they tore into the pack-leader’s face like blades, slicing through skin and bone with ease. Half its face was torn away and the unfortunate dog gave an agonised howl as it stumbled away, pawing at its lacerated head as if to rid itself of the pain.

  At the same time, the other two dogs had attacked from the rear. One managed to make contact, sinking its teeth into the hound’s back leg, but the hound’s body had no bones to break, no tendons to sheer. Its black limb simply oozed through the dog’s teeth and came away unharmed. The dog’s mouth was filled with foul-tasting tar and it coughed and whimpered even as the hound spun round to kill it with another swipe of its lethal claws.

  The other attacker now leapt back, but it was not quick enough and it gave a strangled yowl as the hound’s jaws closed around its neck. For a moment, the poor animal struggled to break free until the manitu clenched its jaws and the dog’s body went limp as the bones in its neck were crushed.

  The lifeless body fell to the ground, the rest of the pack slunk away into the shadows, and Vulpyrac’s Hound resumed its hunt.

  Inganno the potion-maker, had done his work well.

  18

  Hector and Starke