by Chris Turner
“Shallot and cloves!” he spat.
Valere climbed up on the mesh, discharging impatiently the bulbs. Baus identified them as old, dried up impotent specimens—no cause for alarm.
The Dakkaw primly disagreed. “Not at all. Age only increases the potency of these bulbs. They are nothing less than poison to me!”
Baus kicked gamely at the vegetables littering the ground. “Your worry is unfounded!” The Dakkaw, for the time being, was appeased but failed to notice the two small perennials that Baus stuffed into his pocket.
Using his manacles as a sledge, the Dakkaw smashed a great hole in the gate and they all stood back with approving grins. The ogre pulled the wagon forth, off into the shrubbery while Valere wound the rope tighter round his neck as he trailed him. They discarded their dead firebrands into the foliage. Baus wrapped his cloak tighter about him; the three passed within the precincts of the village.
Stealthily they made way down a trimmed lawn, illuminated by tall lamps, filled with dim shadows cast by the tall hedgerows. The Dakkaw led the way warily, but gained more confidence as he advanced. Valere shambled behind, clutching the rope jealously. Baus followed at a more circumspect distance. The ganglestick was raised to forestall any contingencies that the Dakkaw might incite.
A row of a dozen tall corniced buildings emerged into the foreground. Baus could discern high pitched gables set with traditional shingle and ornate façades that stood silently in the grey moonlight. Text was engraved on the walls which none of the company could decipher. A few orange glimmers glinted through the casements in the upper levels, but outside of a gleam or two, no glimpse or sound came from these domiciles. A large open plaza lay in the moonlight. Purling water, of a large fountain, trickled from this direction. They inched their way forward, searching for the slightest sound of mishap, but Baus detected no menace, and caught only a downward glimpse of light, noting that the cobbles were waxed smooth by the passage of many feet. The square’s center was dominated by a great obelisk; an alabaster fountain also purled at its shadowy feet.
Despite the hour, ribaldry was about. Light spilled out from the plaza’s pub a bowshot away where two tall oval casements waxed with movement. Undoubtedly popular, it was well groomed and attended, judging from the clamour and unmannerly jests, rude shouts and clinking glasses, and Baus surmised he would do best to give the place wide berth.
The Dakkaw gave a sullen murmur, “Voydram’s square is a place of knaves and blowhards—louts and simpletons drink ale like fish here. The coffers to which I allude are kept in the Vulde’s private manor—’tis on the west side.” He gestured perfunctorily at the edifice and remarked, “I’ve been there many times. Always I had no trouble gaining entry through the old post door that lies near the root cellar.”
“Very good, Dakkaw,” exclaimed Baus. “Show us the way—but no tricks! My ganglestick is less forgiving than its last strike upon you,” Baus warned, giving the adjunct a meaningful tap.
The Dakkaw maintained a stony grin. “Fear no chicanery, you ingrate. The Vulde’s daughter, Delizra, slumbers in one of the luxurious wings on the main floor. We will steal her after we secure your wealth, and you two jacks will help me escort her back to Bisiguth.”
“All in good time, Dakkaw,” said Baus, waving the ganglestick with cavalier authority. “Let us acquire this ‘mountain of gold’ first, then we shall see what transpires.”
The Dakkaw flashed Baus a feral grin. “See that you do, rogue—else things may not go well for you and your redbeard chum, magic stick or not.” He lowered his head and stumped forward with frigid dignity.
Baus noticed many pales wedged in and around casements’ sills, positioned above doorways and on the eaves of rooftops. Some were bunched in flower pots and gardens, others tacked on the walls themselves. How steadfast were the villagers of Krintz! thought Baus. The stakes were more regular and stouter in shape than Baus would have imagined and edged with three-tongued barbs that held up sacks of onions, shallots and cloves which he believed the villagers thought to ward off monsters.
Valere stood on the balls of his feet, gauging the sacks with a quipster’s grin. “My, my, Dakkaw! You do appear to be an unpopular person! It puzzles me as to why you have not already attempted to secure these barbs and sacks?”
The Dakkaw gave a disgusted grunt. “By the time I did, the villagers would have been all over me, crowding me with bills and snares.”
“What of the cloves and the onions?” Baus inquired.
“They burn my skin and wreak pain on my senses! Even now I feel a looming leaden waxiness coming over my limbs. My sense of smell is impeccable; but even my hearing becomes impaired; I feel a small chill running down my spine, a burning in my throat. Even at this moment, some queer coincidence makes me feel the hated shallots within inches of my own vitals!” He swallowed, peered loathingly. But he could find no sign of his scourge. Nevertheless, his gaze swung heavily on Baus.
Baus looked innocently away, not appreciating the ogre’s scrutiny. Valere followed deeper into the back alley, tugging at the Dakkaw’s rope with even more compelling force.
The Dakkaw sneered: “I shall proceed, Captain, as soon as you allow my wretched neck some lenience.”
Valere loosed tension on the rope. Baus made eager motions to drag a pair of onion bags and shallot off to the alley’s periphery. Valere watched with indifference.
To their right a tall, smoke-blackened wall rose. Ragged smoke drifted from the two brick chimneys above. Baus craned his neck; he spied a voluted roof rich with complex angles . . . a high balcony, indeed, under which three darkened, filigreed window panes, were exposed.
Baus shivered, for the alley’s narrow girth worried him—too easy for capture, or ambush, plunged as it was into chill shadow.
The Dakkaw requested Valere to dispose of the detestable sacks at the foot of a nearby darkened doorway. Valere refused. The Dakkaw plodded to the door, a low affair it seemed, and sneered, hopping over, nearly fainting from the proximity to the onions. The entrance was shut tightly and framed with grey baywolf posts with polished iron rings. A small oval window lay out of arm’s reach to the left.
The Dakkaw grabbed the door-rings and gave a mighty twist while heaving with his shoulder against the grains of beobar.
The portal swung inward, the bottom scraping noisily at the stone.
The intruders failed to notice a woman garbed in peasant’s blouse peering at them from a distance up the alley. Swaying tipsily, she put a hand to her mouth and uttered a cry. The warning was quickly stifled by Valere, who, seizing the initiative, rushed out and clamped a deft hand over her mouth before she could mouth another shriek. She caught a glimpse of the ogreish Dakkaw in the shadows who was just whirling out the entranceway in menacing stealth.
“Careful, lass!” breathed Valere humorously. “You haven’t seen anything, right? Upon my soul, so long has it been since I kissed a pretty flower like you.” He scooped her up and laid a sloppy kiss on her lips like a captured kitten. The thrusting of maw against hers had her struggling in terror to escape. She pushed herself away, shrilling out a feverish cry. She slapped Valere hard on the cheek and tottered off back to the plaza.
Valere frowned. “Well, that was untoward.”
Baus hissed: “Shouldn’t we go after her? The wench may alert the constables!”
Valere smacked his lips. “Gibbering out a story about a seven foot giant, a mad beggar and a drunken accomplice? . . . I don’t think so. The feint was deliberate, Baus. Ah, the wench’s lips felt good. Probably gotten over it even as we speak . . . some tavern hussy from one of these little ale holes.”
The Dakkaw sniffed his disapproval. “You are a boor, Captain. Exhibitions of this kind would never win you a bride in Krintz.”
Valere jeered. “What need I of a bride in Krintz, ogre? I have already had my share of snakelegs and heartbreaks. It’s a damn sham, Dakkaw, and I pity you for your mawkishness and bathetic—”
Baus interrupted: �
��Let us dispense with the philosophy and augment our stealth. Valere, I admire your veneration, but your ungentlemanliness surprises even me. I seem to recall a certain Rauseelia from whom you seem not to have taken a few lessons.”
Valere’s eyes flashed crimson. “Never utter that unholy name, pip. At least not in my presence.” His cheeks twitched, features knotted. “Let us get on with this insane mission. I am ready to quit now. Notice, the night wears!”
The Dakkaw snorted his agreement.
Baus curtly motioned Valere and the ogre into the cubbyhole; the giant ducked into the murk—albeit reluctantly. The two captors plunged in after him, but not before Baus had dragged back one of the shallot sacks and placed another inside to block the door.
“What’s all this?” the Dakkaw blared.
“An act to avoid detection by the locals,” Baus assured. “Also, should you attempt a cack-handed ambush of us in the corridor, you would invite your own doom. No one but us can displace the items.”
“A foolish and unnecessary precaution!”
“It is what it is,” answered Baus solemnly.
Valere gave a sardonic chuckle, “A man who survives is also one who gets a bride, eh, Dakkaw?”
Baus acknowledged the maxim with maximum approval. Presently the two wedged the sack of onion tightly behind the door and the trio descended a low stairwell, hunched like dwarfs, unable to avoid stumbling over bins, barrels and jars that littered the floor. The gloomy place was rife with the smell of sour wine and fermented ale. Obviously a winery of sorts. A feeble watery light crept in through the casement to their left.
Not having the lie of the land, the two thieves stubbed their toes on iron-strapped barrels and more old wooden crates left over from packaging. They probed sullenly here and there, muttering oaths until the two reached the far wall—’twas real enough to grant them small comfort. Crude poles or staffs were mounted on the stone face, which Valere wrenched off their hangers and identified as brands. On a nearby table lay flint and tinder which he took and had a brand firing to life.
“What luck!” he snorted. Under the dull glare, Baus discovered the nature of the surroundings: a distillery, quite expansive, ornamented with high-vaulted ceiling and squared, heavy pillars. Dozens of holes were carved in the wall filled with bottles of wine. Valere expressed an inclination to sample some of the liquor but Baus discouraged the idea. Rubbing hand to chin, he thought it odd that the town’s entire wealth would be stored in such a dim, out-of-the-way hidey-hole.
As if reading his mind, the Dakkaw told them that the Vulde kept the town’s treasure here knowing that no one would think of searching for it in so repulsive a place. “The distillery is an extension of his manse, which rises above us on three levels.”
“That is good to know.” The proclamation was not entirely implausible and Baus found himself wandering down avenues of scheming. They tramped on, up a metal-worked stair, then a platform which gave rise to a narrow walkway with wooden railing. Dimly he saw the expanse of brewery below. The Dakkaw pointed to a heavy bronze-strapped door which stood with imposing dominance at the end of the walkway. “Beyond that portal lies the Vulde’s wealth, and likely that of the town’s. The entrance is locked, but when has that ever deterred the likes of an ogre?” With an impertinent grin, the monster trooped down the corridor and gave the portal a jarring smack. The back of his fist had it creaking ajar and after some simple manoeuvring, he scraped the door near off its hinges.
Valere edged past the ogre, keen to avoid his flexing hands and examine the wealth. He thrust out his torch to find a strongbox caked in dust sitting on a plain dais propped along the far wall. He rushed over, discovering the confines a small stony vault, windowless, and with the ceiling nearly brushing his skull.
The box was unlocked, and the lid slid open after several attempts, to reveal a heaping pile of gold coins that glistened seductively in the torchlight. Valere gaped; he ran his fingers through the nuggets like a true treasure-hunter. True to his word, the Dakkaw had delivered the goods. This time Baus gloated in celebration with Valere. They exchanged hoarse praises; here was a wealth greater than either had ever had their mitts into! Grinning like monkeys, they sifted through the coins, scooping up as much as their pockets would hold. Baus suddenly tensed, catching glimpse of Dakkaw from the corner of his eye. The ogre was just leaning outside the entrance with a casual leg slung under the other without taking any wealth for himself.
“Well?” croaked the Dakkaw. “What is it now? Have I offended you with my yellow teeth, or are you all just ingrates? Here’s enough glitter for you jacks to pass ten years. Glut yourselves a-plenty, rogues, but be quick about it, for I grow impatient!”
Baus peered contemptibly at the ogre. He was eager to get out of this storeroom, having received a disturbing vision that the giant could suddenly slam the door shut on the two of them and that would be the end. “What about you? Aren’t you going to gather up treasure? There is plenty for all.” He thrust hands into the stash and let drop a clinking handful of gold.
The Dakkaw stepped back with a scowl, eyes brimming with hauteur. “At Bisiguth I have treasures galore. My jewels would fill this repository a score of times over. As for myself—I desire only a bride.”
Baus’s thin grimace dwindled to a mocking sneer. “A bride, always a bride. You are a monomanic. Well, let’s make a deal; we shall visit these upper levels of yours if only you help us carry out this box.”
The Dakkaw held up a minatory finger. “I have fulfilled my duty, now loose these shackles and remove this wretched rope from my throat. I cannot be wheezing and jerking my way courting my princess like a common mongrel out in the kennel.”
Valere offered a thin jeer but the ogre was adamant and Baus felt obliged to give him something of what he wanted. The shackles fell in a jangling heap.
Valere’s mouth sagged.
“That’s better!” sneered the ogre. “Now, the noose.” He flung it down and it lay in a dishevelled pile on the stone.
The Dakkaw held an advantage, checked only by the sack of shallots barring egress from the winery. But Baus tossed a shrug. What could he do? They would depart Krintz and leave this monster to his repulsive deeds, at least this is what his wordless glance to Valere bespoke.
Barring the door, they retraced their steps, padding cautiously down the narrow walkway. They ascended another iron-grilled stair and before long stood before a portal with a brass, hatchet-shaped handle. The winery swung below like an abandoned tool shop.
The Dakkaw tested the brass handle and a quick jerk had the door parting with a groan to let them through. Warm vapours fled through, wafting smoke, odours of mutton and roast hare. Already at this hour, the household’s woodstoves were at work.
“The lord sleeps upstairs,” whispered the Dakkaw. “Quietly now. His daughters rest on the main floor. We are lucky.”
“Daughters?” questioned Valere. “I thought you said there was only one.” He frowned in distrust. “Perhaps we should tarry here a bit for a taste of some fringe benefits? What do you say to that, Baus?”
“Not much,” Baus called primly. “What do you think we are—a bunch of opportunists?”
“That and more.”
The Dakkaw gave an impertinent growl. “Shut up you two! Do you not think there are others here who will not hear us? Slack fools! I doubt if the Vulde posts guards in the scullery, but I know that he harbours servitors, so be alert!”
“Careful with your impertinence. Nevertheless, a wise counsel, Dakkaw,” agreed Baus grudgingly , “but what of these other daughters you talk about?”
“There would be only one,” the Dakkaw grumbled, “she who would be Griselda.”
“The next question is, who is Griselda?” inquired Valere. “Is she as beautiful as her sister?”
The Dakkaw’s pause gave way to a cryptic smile. “You shall have to see for yourself, redbeard. Now, let us make haste.”
Baus thought the reply ambiguous, but for the time he l
et it go.
They crept into the vestibule and the Dakkaw rotated his bull neck about with flair and proceeded with an air of authority toward the corridor. He flexed his wrists and swept thick, glabrous hands around his throat, glad to be free of his oppressive bonds. Of his intent, Baus could not be sure.
Valere held the torch aloft, beckoning with caution. Dutifully Baus trailed behind and they gained a small stairway—baywolf oak; noiselessly they slunk into a wide hall in the wake of the giant’s tread. Passing a small chamber of hanging pots, they entered into a spacious chamber furnished with fur-padded benches and upholstered chairs. The last embers of the glowing hearth burned with an otherwise feeble glow and in pin-silent gloom. The walls were decorated with deep mahogany; wall hangings depicted naval scenes and battles of the legendary Boat Lords of Old Krintz. A tall set of antique stairs rose to their left in the shadows while a carpeted hallway ran to their right. Down the hallway the ogre marched with an altogether surprising exuberance. It seemed he knew the place well and as he strode, his mass rippled with strength and authority, causing Baus anxiety. Midway down they encountered a room filled with crystal and rich furnishings and a silk-robed table. Obviously a dining room. Glass vases were set with flowers and low end-tables lurked in the periphery.
Baus frowned, musing. Despite the austerity of the Vulde’s residence, there seemed a definite sense of opulence here. The lord was clearly a man of taste and wealth, likely power: one not to be crossed. The fluttery foreboding in Baus’s stomach began to grow.
The hall narrowed; two narrow rooms with closed doors lay to either side. To one door the Dakkaw reached for the far doorknob, then smilingly, reached for the other. Valere and Baus exchanged glances, wondering what this significant exchange meant.
The door opened soundlessly and into the murk they peered, spying nothing at first, but hearing a soft, tangible breathing.
Valere raised his torch. Buttery light revealed a young woman reposed in a double bed surmounted with a silken canopy. She was an incredible beauty in every respect and Baus stared with the most lively interest. Fulsome brown locks tumbled exquisitely down white cheeks. A sideways glance showed a visage moulded with ruby lips which purred sleepily like some gorgeous feline. The colour of her gown was pale robin’s egg blue and Baus caught a glimpse a pearly-white nape of neck, a seductive curve of breasts very neatly traced in silk beneath the covers . . .