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

by Peter A Flannery

  ‘Not really,’ said the Butcher. ‘It’s still your skin. It’s just that an echo of Fate’s pigment was replicated along with the healing.’

  ‘I would be interested to learn more about the process,’ said Fate as he sat up and rubbed his own shoulder.

  ‘And I would be happy to show you,’ replied the Butcher.

  A short while later, they were ready to leave and Fate explained to Weasel that it would be unwise for him to leave right now.

  ‘It’s all right,’ said the young wayfinder. ‘I like it here. So long as you don’t send me off to sea,’ he added with a suspicious frown.

  ‘Just lie low till we sort things out,’ said the Tutor, giving Luca a reassuring smile.

  They were just getting ready to follow Cradlop into the tunnels when the Tutor stopped.

  ‘It’s just struck me,’ he said, turning back to the Butcher. ‘We don’t even know your name.’

  ‘Culpepper,’ said the Butcher with a smile. ‘Samuel Culpepper.’

  The three men had shaken hands and with that, they left the tunnels leaving Weasel and Luca in Samuel’s care until they were able to prove Luca’s innocence, or not.

  Now they were back on familiar roads and Blackfell House had just come into view when Fate noticed a change in the Tutor’s demeanour.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m not entirely sure,’ said the Tutor. ‘A twinge of sensation from my tattoo.’

  The tattoo on the demon hunter’s chest offered protection from magical harm, and in some cases it acted as a warning system, alerting the bearer to threats of a magical nature.

  ‘Do you think it’s the hound?’ asked Fate and the Tutor nodded as his blue eyes stared off into the distance.

  ‘It’s close.’

  ‘Quickly then,’ said Fate, and the two men began to jog towards the sanctuary of the sorcerer’s home.

  The Tutor’s tattoo was pulsing with alarm as they hurried into the kitchen of Blackfell House where Motina was dozing in a chair by the fire. The housekeeper had spent the early part of the night trying to persuade Daisy to stay at the house. However, the young wayfinder had insisted that she would be safer with her friends and, after everything that had happened, it was hard to disagree. After sending the girl home with a large bundle of food, Motina had started working on Fate’s net before falling asleep in her chair.

  ‘What’s happened?’ she yawned, rising stiffly from her chair as Fate reached up to a large net that was hanging from a clothes pulley attached to the ceiling.

  ‘Excellent,’ said Fate. ‘You finished it. Did you have time to soak it in rosemary?’

  ‘Never mind the net,’ said Motina. ‘Tell me what happened… did you find Weasel and Luca?’

  ‘We did,’ said the Tutor.

  ‘So, where are they? Are they all right?’

  ‘They’re fine,’ said Fate, clearly distracted as he pulled the net off the drying pulley.

  ‘Oh, don’t mind me,’ said the frustrated housekeeper. ‘I’ve only been worrying myself sick… I’ve only spent the entire night making you a blasted net.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Fate as he gathered the still-damp net onto his arm. ‘Weasel’s alive and well, and we’ll explain about Luca when we have the time but for now, the Tutor and I need to try and snare the creature that’s trying to kill us.’

  ‘What, now?’ asked Motina. ‘But you’ve only just got back.’

  ‘The sooner the better,’ said Fate as he looked to see if the Tutor was ready. ‘People mustn’t know that Luca is alive until we can prove his innocence, and we can’t do that with a murderous hound snapping at our heels.’

  ‘What!’ cried Motina in alarm. ‘Weasel was taken by the Butcher?’

  ‘No,’ said Fate. ‘Well, yes he was, but it’s not as you might imagine.’ He shook his head to bring his thoughts back into focus. ‘Now,’ he said. ‘Did you soak the net in rosemary or not?’

  ‘No,’ said Motina in a sarcastic tone. ‘That’s why the whole kitchen smells of rosemary.’

  Fate gave an embarrassed smile. ‘What I meant to say…’

  ‘I know what you meant to say,’ interrupted Motina. ‘And the answer is yes.’

  Walking around the table, Fate placed his hand on the small woman’s arm.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, and Motina gave a distinctly unimpressed humph!

  ‘So how are we going to do this?’ asked the Tutor as they left the house and followed the driveway to the gate in the perimeter fence.

  Fate paused as he put his hand on the gate.

  ‘Manitus like this have a base level of cunning, but not so much in the way of actual intelligence. It might be wary of the fence, but if we go into the open, it should attack us.’

  ‘So, we’re the bait?’ asked the Tutor.

  ‘Well, you’re probably better with the net, so I’ll play the role of bait.’

  The Tutor raised an eyebrow as Fate handed him the net.

  ‘But why trap it at all?’ he asked. ‘Why not just kill it?’

  ‘We might only succeed in injuring it and then it would just retreat like it did last time. And besides…’ said Fate as his dark eyes glittered with flecks of gold, ‘I have other plans for this accursed hound.’

  With that, Fate opened the gate and stepped beyond the protection of his home. With a sigh, the Tutor straightened the net on his arm and moved to follow as Fate headed off up the street.

  ‘Can you see it?’ asked Fate.

  ‘No,’ said the Tutor, ‘but it’s definitely close.’

  Fate nodded. There was no direct sign of it, but every now and then they caught the distinctive whiff of tar.

  ‘There!’ said the Tutor as a dark shape crossed the gap between two buildings.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Unless someone’s been breeding glossy black boar hounds.’

  Fate pursed his lips. ‘Over there then,’ he said, pointing across the street. ‘In that corner beyond the well.’

  The Tutor nodded and the two men scanned the misty streets as they backed into the corner that would prevent the hound from getting behind them.

  ‘Are you sure this net will hold it?’ asked the Tutor as he adjusted the net for throwing. ‘Won’t the hound just flow through it like it flowed around your dagger?’

  ‘No,’ said Fate. ‘The rosemary has a constraining effect and, judging by the faint metallic sheen, I suspect Motina has also imbued it with some kind of spell or enchantment.’

  ‘I thought I could feel something,’ replied the Tutor, then Fate hissed as the distinctive shape of the hound came into view.

  Emerging from the mist, the manitu looked like something from the urban legend known as The Hound of the Border Vales. It advanced cautiously as if it remembered the pain of their last encounter, but still it came on, its glowing eyes switching from Fate to the Tutor and back.

  The Tutor was wondering how close the hound would come before it decided to attack. He felt a strong urge to draw his sword, and he stepped a half pace ahead of Fate in a gesture that betrayed his instinct to protect.

  ‘No,’ said Fate. ‘Move to one side and let it come for me.’

  The Tutor frowned at what seemed like an unwise strategy, but then he realised they would have a better chance of catching it if they could predict who it was going to attack. He took several steps to the left as the black hound skirted the well. He was about to take another step when the hound suddenly attacked.

  The manitu leapt at Fate, but the Tutor had been waiting for it. Sweeping his arm forward, he cast the net over the creature even as it was flying through the air. However, the net did not stop the manitu and Fate staggered back, throwing up his left arm as the creature went for his throat.

  The sorcerer gave a hiss of pain as the hound’s teeth clamped down on his forearm, and the only thing that prevented serious damage was the enchanted net that was now pulled tight over the creature’s ravening maw.

  Letting go
of Fate’s arm, the manitu whipped round to attack the Tutor and the net slid off its head. Once again, the Tutor felt the urge to draw his sword, but he resisted it as he kicked the hound in the jaw, stepping back quickly as the manitu slashed at him with its talons. Three of the claws got snagged in the net almost pulling it from the Tutor’s grasp, but then he clenched his fists and threw himself over the hound, drawing the net with him as he went. As the Tutor hit the ground the net was pulled tight and the hound stumbled as its tangled leg was pulled up under its body.

  Falling to the ground, the enraged manitu now snapped at the Tutor who was lying on the ground beside it using his own body weight to pull the net tight over the hound’s thrashing form. The demon hunter turned his head as the hound’s jaws snapped and gnashed just inches from his face. He was caught in a bind…

  If he released his hold the manitu would break free, but if he remained where he was, the writhing beast would soon be chomping on his face. The smell of sulphur and tar was overwhelming and he could feel the heat of the creature’s body. The manitu’s snapping jaws bit into the leather armour on his right shoulder and the Tutor knew the next bite would find his flesh.

  However, at that moment the manitu gave a piercing shriek as Fate stabbed it in the rump with his dagger. At the same time, the sorcerer grabbed a flapping edge of the net and wrapped it around one of the hound’s scrabbling legs. Using his knife for purchase, Fate pulled the net tighter restricting the creature’s movement even further. Now the Tutor was able to adjust his position. Shifting to one side, he grabbed two loose corners and pulled the two edges of the net together.

  Feeling itself constrained, the manitu began to thrash about in a frenzy and Fate bit back another cry of pain as the creature’s claws raked his right hand as he grabbed the final loose edge and pulled it tight. And then it was done.

  Vulpyrac’s Hound was caught in a homemade net, the magical ferocity of its enchantment constrained by the mysterious properties of a simple herb and the spells of a Karuthian witch. Trussed up like a butcher’s ham, the shining black creature continued to struggle and snarl as Fate and the Tutor sewed up the net with additional pieces of cord.

  As the first glow of dawn appeared on the horizon, Fate and the Tutor dragged the snared beast back to Blackfell House.

  ‘What a foul creation!’ exclaimed Motina as they dragged it up the steps and into the house.

  In the confined space of the hall, the smell of sulphur and hot tar was almost overpowering.

  ‘We’ll take it down to the basement,’ said Fate, and together they wrestled the snarling beast through a doorway and down a flight of stone steps.

  The steps led down to an impressive room filled with objects collected from every corner of the world. Weapons, shields and exotic masks hung on the walls beside pictures and tapestries, while various tables boasted numerous sculptures and obscure instruments that were clearly of a magical or scientific nature.

  One wall of the room was dominated by an enormous circular door, forged from metal and embossed with images of fire, dragons and armoured warriors wearing eyeless helms. It was the door of Fate’s vault; the place where his most valuable items were kept. The vault was protected by powerful wards and magical spells. It required magic to open it, and Fate no longer used magic so the vault, and all its secret contents, would remain locked away forever.

  As they dragged the manitu to the centre of the room the Tutor was reminded of the last time he had been in this room. It had been the night of the ‘penance moon’, a night when Fate allowed a certain type of Faerie to share in the memories of all the terrible deeds he had committed while under the thrall of magic. It was a painful and difficult night, but it was just one part of the debt that Fate now paid to make up for the misdeeds of his past.

  ‘Move that chair,’ said Fate, and the Tutor’s thoughts were broken as they cleared a large space in the centre of the room.

  Even though it was now constrained, the manitu continued to struggle and snarl as they looked down at the netted bundle of fury.

  ‘What do you need?’ asked Motina.

  ‘I need a bowl of cooking oil, a few rags, and a bottle from the desk in my study.

  ‘Any bottle in particular?’ asked Motina.

  ‘Yes, said Fate. ‘It’s the small potion bottle I took from Inganno.’

  ‘I thought that bottle was empty,’ said Motina.

  ‘It is,’ said Fate and Motina shook her head in exasperation as she turned to leave the room.

  ‘What exactly are you going to do?’ asked the demon hunter.

  ‘You’ll see,’ said Fate and the Tutor found himself sympathising with Motina.

  ‘Yes,’ he thought… ‘very annoying.’

  *

  Going quickly to the kitchen, Motina collected a copper basin, a large bottle of cooking oil and a bundle of rags. She placed them on a sideboard in the hall before heading upstairs to Fate’s study. The sorcerer’s desk was in one corner near a leaded window that looked over the garden. Sure enough, the small potion bottle was sitting in the middle of the desk. Still curious about what it had contained, Motina picked up the bottle and was about to head back downstairs when something at the window caught her eye.

  Shining with a faint silvery light, it was a dandelion seed.

  Moving over to the window, Motina looked down into the garden. The tree-lined driveway was still shrouded in darkness, but now there was a patch of light shining between the trees. The pale silvery light had the vague shape of a reclining figure and Motina immediately recognised it as a being from the realm of Faerie.

  The housekeeper felt a shiver of disquiet prickle her skin. She was not afraid of the Fair Folk and yet somehow they made her feel nervous. As a witch, Motina was keenly attuned to the laws of nature, but the realm of Faerie conformed to different laws, laws that no mere human could hope to understand.

  With another shake of her head, she collected the potion bottle and made her way downstairs. When she returned to the basement room Fate and the Tutor were still holding down the net to restrict the manitu’s movements.

  ‘Good,’ said Fate. ‘If you could pass me the rags and put the bottles on the table.’

  Motina put the copper basin, the oil and the potion bottle on the table then...

  ‘You have a visitor,’ she said as she handed Fate the rags.

  ‘This is no time for visitors,’ said Fate with some annoyance.

  ‘I think you’ll make time for this one,’ said Motina. ‘He’s outside on the driveway, and currently reclining in a bower of dandelion seeds.’

  Fate looked up with a sudden intensity in his eyes.

  ‘He was here earlier,’ Motina went on, ‘although he didn’t show himself.’

  Allowing Motina to take his edge of the net, Fate straightened up and strode from the room.

  ‘Must be some visitor,’ said the Tutor, and Motina arched an eyebrow.

  ‘His name’s Carduus Thistleblade, a Faerie Lord.’

  ‘Fate didn’t seem best pleased.’

  ‘Carduus is a deoraíocht… an outcast,’ explained Motina. ‘He lives in the wilderlands of Faerie, forbidden to leave them by royal decree.’

  ‘So what’s he doing here?’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ said Motina as she looked down at the writhing manitu. ‘But if Carduus has defied the will of his queen, then it can’t be anything good.’

  24

  Lord of the Thistleblade Sword

  Fate was distinctly wary as he made his way out of the front door and down the shallow steps onto the driveway of Blackfell House. And there, sure enough, was the tall figure of a man, or rather a faerie lord that looked like a man. Dressed in dark green robes that swirled like smoke, the man was no longer reclining on a cloud of dandelion seeds. The silvery motes now floated around him while he looked up at the leafless trees that lined the gravel driveway.

  The faerie’s gaze finally came to rest on the hole in the lawn where one of the trees was missin
g. And when he spoke it was as if the essence of a wolf had suddenly found its voice.

  ‘You’ve lost one,’ said the faerie in a growling voice that spoke of humour, and cunning.

  ‘It died well and served its purpose,’ said Fate as the rest of the dark trees quivered in the cold still air.

  ‘Would you like me to replace it?’ asked the faerie.

  ‘No,’ said Fate. ‘The original number was payment enough.’

  ‘You know that I don’t agree,’ said the faerie and he suddenly looked at Fate with eyes of liquid silver. ‘Do you know how long it would have taken me to die in the wilderlands of the Blessed Realm?’

  Fate did not answer, but only met that silver gaze with ebony darkness and gold.

  ‘Centuries,’ said the faerie. ‘I might have suffered for centuries if you had not given me a way to survive.’

  ‘I merely offered a suggestion,’ said Fate and the faerie smiled.

  ‘Oh, it was far more than that,’ he said and, raising his arms, he closed his eyes and tilted his head as if in communion with something that Fate could not see. When he opened his eyes the air around him was filled with a dozen orbs of pale blue light.

  Small enough to hold in two open hands, the orbs moved with a purpose. Some went to hover at the faerie’s shoulder while others flew up before coming to rest among the bare branches of the trees. Then one of the orbs flew directly towards Fate and, as it did so, the blue light gave way to reveal a tiny female faerie; a warrior sprite with black armour, silver skin and gossamer wings that shone like sapphires. It was a Lannari.

  As the tiny warrior streaked towards Fate, it drew a silver grass-blade of a sword and lunged straight for the sorcerer’s face. The needle-sharp point came to a halt just a finger’s width from his left eye, but Fate did not even flinch. Instead, he frowned slightly as the warrior sprite sheathed her sword and gave a tiny smile as she spun in the air and flitted away to hover at the male faerie’s back.

  ‘You introduced me to my daughters,’ said the faerie as the rest of the blue orbs condensed into their true faerie form. ‘You gave me a family.’