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

by Peter A Flannery

  20

  The Empty Slab

  Weasel was dreaming. He was dreaming about drowning in darkness while unseen creatures bit into his body. Darkness engulfed him and then he was floating, carried along a twisting passage before being laid down on a cold slab of stone. Strong hands held him and he was too terrified to scream - until he saw the knife. The butcher’s cleaver gleamed in the pale green light as a figure brought it down towards his body, and then…

  Weasel woke to the same pale green light, but the figure and his butcher’s cleaver were gone. He was lying on a padded blanket, a thick quilted blanket like those used by the ferrymen during the cold days of winter. He was in a cave with a domed ceiling and a smooth earthen floor. The rock walls of the cave were smooth and speckled with some kind of fungal growth that glowed with a faint emerald light.

  It took Weasel a moment to come round and then he sat up with a start.

  He remembered following the bogeyman into the caves. Being careful not to get too close, he had followed the pale figure until the passage merged with two others. Fearful of getting lost he turned round to check the route, but when he looked back the pale figure was no longer a distant glow, it was coming back towards him.

  Weasel began to run, but in his panic he took the wrong passage. He had not gone far before he realised his mistake and now he needed to find somewhere to hide until he could go back. Spotting a narrow crevice, he snuffed out his lantern and hid for several minutes, listening carefully for any sound of pursuit.

  Nothing.

  Finally, he judged it safe and, relighting his lantern, he made his way back to the passage leading out to the storm drain. He felt a huge surge of relief as he recognised the way out, then he froze. What he had taken for an outcrop of rock was actually a large and powerful figure. It was the bogeyman, right there in front of him.

  For a second they just stared at each other, and it was in that moment that Weasel realised the bogeyman was not human. The figure was big but hunched over, with broad shoulders, a narrow waist and arms so long that its hands hung down below its knees. Now so close, he could see that its glowing skin was smooth and grey, like a combination of human skin and mottled stone. But it was the bogeyman’s eyes that froze Weasel to the spot. Like the fungus on the walls of the cave, those eyes glowed with a pale green light.

  And then it ‘spoke’.

  The sound was like the echoing clack of pebbles, punctuated by the tuneful plop of water falling into a pool. Slowly the sounds merged into human words.

  ‘No leave.’ The sound was like millstones grinding together and Weasel turned to flee.

  Almost dropping his lantern he fled down the tunnel, the makeshift lamp swaying wildly as he tried to keep his footing on the slippery rock. Behind him he heard the sound of footsteps and he realised the bogeyman was coming after him.

  Slipping and stumbling, he rounded a bend and his heart leapt as he recognised the entrance passage leading to the hole in the wall. For a moment he thought he heard voices, and that was when he had fallen into the water and the nightmare had closed in around him.

  Now Weasel was sitting in a cave.

  His body felt stiff and he winced as he got to his feet. Looking down, he saw a small circular wound in the skin of his forearm, and there was another on the back of his right calf. Both wounds were bleeding slightly and he quickly became aware of similar wounds on other parts of his body. With a disturbing flashback, he realised that the biting creatures from his nightmare had been real. But that was in the past.

  Like most street orphans, Weasel was no stranger to suffering and this had forged a resilience that allowed him to put unpleasant experiences behind him. He was a survivor and now his mind turned to escaping from this cave and somehow getting back to the surface.

  Rising from the floor, he began to examine his surroundings and it took only a moment to realise that the entrance to the cave was blocked by a large stone. The arched entrance was about three feet high and there was a small gap at the top where the stone did not quite fit. Weasel could get his arm through the gap but there was no way his head would fit through.

  Putting his shoulder to the stone he tried to push it away, but it was too heavy and his feet merely skidded in the loose earth on the floor. With a groan of frustration he thumped the stone and immediately regretted it as the pain of the impact shot through his hand. Peering through the gap, he could see that it led into a passage, but the light was not strong enough to see very far.

  Stepping back from the gap, he began to search around the cave, looking for something he could use to lever the stone out of the way. However, apart from the blanket, the only other thing he found was a small copper bowl. He was about to throw it down when an idea occurred to him.

  Kneeling down at the base of the stone, he scraped the edge of the bowl into the floor. The sandy earth was packed hard but the bowl gouged out a channel and his idea might just work. There was no way he could dig an escape tunnel under the stone because it would simply fall down and trap him. However, if he could dig a hole for the stone to fall into then it would widen the gap at the top. With a renewed sense of optimism, he set to work.

  It was hard going, but slowly Weasel began hollowing out the space under the stone. His one fear was that it might slip and trap his arm. At one point the stone moved and he grazed his knuckles as he snatched his hand out of the hole.

  A few more minutes and the sand at the side of the hole began to crumble as the stone sank down into the hole that Weasel had dug. It was still tight, but now there was just enough room at the top of the stone for him to squeeze through the gap.

  Holding his breath, Weasel peered through the gap. Seeing the coast was clear, he put one arm through the hole and was about to continue when a thought occurred to him…

  What if some of the tunnels were completely dark?

  How would he find his way out?

  Settling back into the cave, Weasel cursed the fact that he had lost his lantern then he glanced at the fungus on the walls. Quickly, he began to scrape it off until he had a mound of the glowing fungus in the palm of his hand. It was not exactly bright, but it would offer a faint source of light if the passages became completely dark. Now he was ready and, taking a deep breath, he squeezed through the gap until he fell through onto the other side.

  Weasel felt a surge of joy at his escape but the area beyond the cave led into a branching passage and he had no idea which way to go. Fortunately, the walls were mottled with the same glowing fungus so he did not need to rely on the meagre light emanating from his hand. With no way of knowing, Weasel trusted to his wayfinder instincts and took the passage on the right.

  Once again it was clear that this was a natural passage, but there was also evidence of deliberate excavation. Jutting outcrops had been smoothed away and there was even the occasional step carved into the floor. Weasel followed the passage until it came to a junction.

  To one side there was a dark crevice running along the floor of the passage and he could hear the sound of running water coming from below. It made him feel uneasy and so he took the other route.

  He passed several branching tunnels, but he kept to the main way until he came to one passage that did not seem quite so dark. He was just wondering whether to take it when he heard the faint sound of voices behind him, and they were getting louder.

  With no time for hesitation, Weasel set off down this new passage. Glancing backwards, he stumbled as he reached another set of steps carved into the floor. The passage began to slope upwards and Weasel saw light up ahead. Maybe it was daylight.

  Increasing his pace, Weasel hurried forward and the light grew brighter. His hopes rose until he burst into a larger cavern, at which point the young wayfinder skidded to a halt. This cavern was more brightly lit, but Weasel wished it was not. For there, lying on a stone slab in the centre of the cave was a body. It was the body of a young man with dark hair. The skin on his hands was puckered with burn scars. All that was missing
was the mole at the base of his jaw.

  The blood pounded in Weasel’s ears as he recognised the young man from the picture that Fate had shown him in the locket. It was Madam de Lorni’s son. It was clear that the young man was dead and the ghostly green light made him look even more deathly.

  Lying close beside the young man was a second slab of stone, but this one was empty.

  Too frightened to register any sadness, Weasel began to back out of the cave then he stopped as he heard a guttural sound behind him. It was the sound of pebbles rolling in a cave…

  It was the sound of the bogeyman.

  Weasel whipped round and what he saw filled him with confusion and fear. There was the bogeyman, broad-shouldered, long arms and glowing rock-flesh skin. Beside him was a large man whose skin was so pale as to be almost white. The man was bald, and the whites of his pink eyes shone with the same green light as the bogeyman’s. Hanging from his belt was a large rectangular cleaver, and the front part of his body was covered by a discoloured leather apron. Weasel had seen aprons like that before and he knew he was looking at the Butcher.

  ‘No,’ said the butcher, replying to the bogeyman’s rolling-pebble words. ‘Now we definitely can’t let him leave.’

  Weasel felt his knees go weak, but it was not the bogeyman or the Butcher that unsettled him. It was the young man standing beside them that made him feel faint. On wobbly legs, Weasel started to back away, but his vision was beginning to fade and there was a strange ringing sound in his ears.

  ‘Catch him!’ said the Butcher and Weasel felt the ground tilt as the bogeyman lunged towards him.

  21

  The Butcher of Guile

  Fate had been a child when he first learned how to master fear, but even for him, swimming through the sump was no small challenge. He could only imagine how the Tutor must have felt with the attack of the lampreys still fresh in his mind. His respect for the demon hunter grew even stronger as he finally emerged on the far side of the submerged passage.

  The Tutor reached down a hand then winced as he helped Fate out of the water.

  ‘Are you all right?’ asked Fate.

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘No, you’re not,’ said Fate as the Tutor clasped a hand to his injured shoulder.

  After swimming through the sump, the Tutor had taken Fate’s firefly charm in his hand. He did not have the skill to control its flight so he simply held it over the water so that Fate could see its light as he also swam through. The sorcerer now reclaimed the charm and clipped it back on his bracelet before reaching into his bag for one of the glowing blue crystals.

  Now he leaned in closer to have a look at the Tutor’s injured shoulder. ‘Hmm…’ he murmured. ‘The hound’s talons cut more deeply than I thought.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ repeated the Tutor, gritting his teeth as he pulled on his dry leather doublet before easing his right arm into his hardened leather armour.

  ‘We should have let Motina stitch you up.’

  ‘No time,’ said the Tutor as he buckled on his sword belt. ‘Now, come on.’ Retrieving the second blue crystal from Fate’s bag, he gave it a shake before holding it up to illuminate the tunnel. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘That’s where Weasel fell in.’

  ‘And where the bogeyman caught him,’ replied Fate.

  The sorcerer quickly donned his long-coat and pulled on his boots before moving to stand beside the Tutor.

  ‘It looks like Weasel was also attacked by the lampreys,’ said the Tutor, indicating a watery trail of blood on the rock floor of the passage. ‘They went this way.’

  Holding the blue crystals aloft, they began to make their way down the natural passageway.

  ‘I had no idea these tunnels existed,’ whispered the Tutor as the main passage merged with several others.

  ‘They’ve been here for eons,’ said Fate. ‘Carved out by underground rivers that flow beneath the city.’

  At every junction, the sorcerer insisted on marking the route with either charcoal or chalk so they could find their way out. They continued for about two hundred yards before the floor of the passage became covered in water and the trail of blood disappeared.

  ‘Which way now?’ said the Tutor as the passage branched off in two directions.

  ‘Shield your light,’ said Fate, and the passage was plunged into darkness as the two men tucked the glowing crystals under their clothes.

  At this point, there was only a speckle of glowing fungus on the walls. As the Tutor peered into the gloom, Fate closed his eyes and waited until the glow of the crystals had faded before opening them again. For a moment all he could see was darkness, but then he slowly became aware that one of the passages looked a tad brighter than the other.

  ‘This way,’ he said in a low voice. ‘There’s a hint of light down this way.’

  Fate drew a dagger and the Tutor drew his sword, but they kept their crystals partially shielded so as not to betray their presence.

  ‘It’s getting brighter,’ whispered the Tutor and Fate gave a nod.

  The way ahead was definitely getting lighter and the floor of the passage was no longer wet. In fact, it began to show signs of being worked. The light ahead of them was now unmistakable and they continued until they heard the echoing sound of voices. A deep voice was speaking, but it was too muffled and distant to make out the words. Then they heard another voice that sounded lighter and younger.

  Moving more quickly they pressed on until the Tutor gestured for caution. Ahead of them the tunnel opened out into a cavern that was filled with a pale green light. Edging his way closer, the Tutor advanced until he could see into the open space, and then he stopped.

  At the centre of the room were two slabs of stone and standing between them, with his back to the entrance, was a large man with a bald head, pale skin and a stained leather apron tied around his waist. It was the Butcher of Guile standing, bold as you like, in the cold light of his lair. On the nearest of the two slabs was the lifeless body of a young man. It was too far away to be certain, but the figure fitted the description of Madam de Lorni’s son.

  The Tutor could not make out the figure on the second slab, but he knew it must be alive because the Butcher was now speaking to it.

  ‘Remember,’ came the sound of that deep resonant voice. ‘The pain will not last for long.’

  The words turned the Tutor’s heart to ice. He could see a rectangular cleaver hanging from the Butcher’s waist, and he was too far away to intervene if the Butcher chose to use it. Being careful not to make a sound, the Tutor reached for one of the throwing stars from the bandoleer across his chest. It would be a long throw, but it was his only chance of causing a distraction that might allow him to close the distance. Turning slightly, he showed the throwing star to Fate and the sorcerer gave a nod of understanding.

  As the Tutor adjusted his body for the throw, the Butcher reached out a hand to each of the slabs. The Tutor could only see the dead body on the near slab, but he saw the Butcher lay a hand on the dead youth’s face. Then, with one arm stretched out to each of the figures, the Butcher’s hands began to glow.

  Fearing this was some kind of torture, the Tutor’s arm whipped forward as he let fly with his throwing star. The spinning projectile struck the Butcher in his right shoulder and he gave a grunt of pain as he withdrew his hands. Clearly shocked, he reached a hand to his shoulder. He turned to see where the attack had come from and his glowing pink eyes grew wide as he saw the dark figure of the Tutor charging towards him.

  The Tutor sprinted forward, his sword already beginning the attack that would end at the Butcher’s throat. The bulky figure of the Butcher stumbled back against the far slab as the demon hunter closed the distance. The Tutor was almost in striking distance when a large figure barged into him from the side.

  It was the bogeyman.

  The figure seemed to have appeared from nowhere and the Tutor was taken by surprise as he was knocked to the floor. His sword arm was now restrained by a hand with incredi
ble strength and there was no way he could break free so he dropped his sword and used his free hand to draw a dagger from his belt. The figure grappling him was extremely strong. However, it was also clear that it had never been trained to fight and the Tutor was able to regain the initiative.

  Even though his right arm was still being held, he managed to get behind the figure, using his trapped arm to pull his attacker close as the blade of his dagger came up under the figure’s chin.

  At the same time, Fate rushed forward with his white-handled dagger, hoping to prevent the Butcher from causing any harm. He had also been taken by surprise by the figure that attacked the Tutor. Bursting from a side passage, the bogeyman had knocked the Tutor to the ground and in that split second Fate realised that the figure was not human. Long arms, short legs and pale skin that looked like rock… the sorcerer had seen such creatures before.

  The bogeyman was a troglodyte.

  Pushing aside his surprise, Fate finally reached his target. He raised his dagger to kill the Butcher even as the Tutor’s own weapon was pressing against the bogeyman’s throat. Both were about to die when a shout echoed around the cavern.

  ‘NO!’ came the cry, and so urgent was the tone that both Fate and the Tutor hesitated as they turned to see who had spoken.

  It was Weasel.

  ‘Stop!’ said the young wayfinder. ‘Don’t hurt them.’

  Suddenly appearing from the mouth of another passage, Weasel rushed forward and, even as he did so, the person on the far slab sat up.

  It was Luca de Lorni, complete with the mole at the base of his jaw.

  There were not many things that surprised Fate but this certainly did, and he frowned as he looked from the sitting Luca to the dead Luca lying on the second slab. He noted the same features, the same hair and the same burned hands, but he also noticed that the dead Luca appeared shorter with a somewhat lighter build.

  Understanding dawned and Fate arched an eyebrow as he turned to look at the man standing between the two slabs.