Tan Skulks (A Wielders Novel Book 1)

by Max Anthony

  If those watching the happy reunion noticed the girl wince, they would have put it down to a child’s sudden fear that she had upset her father by her improper actions in seeking him out at work.

  “Please don’t be upset at us Father!” she implored, withdrawing her hands quickly from him.

  Meanwhile, the other hand had managed to unpick the stitching inside his tunic and was reaching triumphantly for the coins within. Skulks let the hand remove two before he stepped back from the children to encompass them in an embrace. The stolen coins were in fact made of a heavy paste and even the sweat of a hand would rapidly deface these poor forgeries. As he crouched down, Skulks saw the disappointment in the boy’s face as he realised he’d failed to remove anything of worth.

  “Since you’re here, you may as well have a look around where your father works.”

  “Oh Daddy!” squealed the two in unison, forgetting themselves and addressing him informally as he led them away.

  Once this delightful family had put some distance between itself and watching eyes, Skulks turned to the Warp and the Weft.

  “You got here quickly!” In truth he was glad that they had made haste, for he would feel much emboldened in his next endeavours with these two by his side.

  “Yes, Daddy, we find ourselves at a temporary financial disadvantage and the promise of three thousand Solids was sufficient to expedite our passage.” The Warp’s eyes glittered with mischief as she kept up the charade of being his daughter. Skulks considered asking them to stop referring to him as ‘Daddy’, but refrained for the moment.

  “Here is the contract documentation, Father,” said the Weft, producing a scroll. Skulks sighed for the second time that morning. They knew he was good for his promises, but they always insisted on having signed paperwork. He may have been a glib-tongued thief, a cheat, a card-sharp, a cat burglar, a pilferer from babies and a stealer from the poor, but dammit he had some principles!

  Skimming through it, he noted that it was correctly prepared by Mink Dewdrop:

  We the undersigned blah blah blah agreement to pay the sum of blah blah blah pain of death blah blah six kicks to the scrotum blah blah removal of spleen using hooked stick inserted via rectum blah blah.

  And so it went on; all the standard clauses were present. In anticipation of his compliance it had been signed in advance by the Warp and the Weft. He looked down to see a small hand offering him a pre-inked scribing pen. He took it and, balancing on one leg, signed the contract document on a raised knee, before returning both paperwork and pen. As Skulks watched, the scroll vanished from the Weft’s hand with a small pop, teleported to a place of safety whence he would be unable to enact its theft or replace it with a counterfeit. Skulks tried to look hurt at the implied lack of trust, but his audience was not fooled.

  Having taken his ‘children’ on a very brief guided tour of their ‘father’s’ workplace, the three of them were seen heading out of the Chamber Building, Captain Skulks with his reputation as a good family man boosted amongst his staff. Once Skulks judged he’d put sufficient distance behind him, he took his ‘children’ into the Crispy Shredded Leper where he ordered three mugs of Mage’s Sock. Such was the clientele of this tavern, that the bar keep neither questioned, nor raised an eyebrow when the three patrons sat themselves down, one mug apiece. Nor was an eyebrow raised when Skulks hollered for a plate of jowls for himself and a plate of chicken livers for each of the children.

  Skulks explained the situation.

  “The place is full of bloody mages,” he said. “Else I’d be able to do this myself.” Neither the Warp nor the Weft took offence at this. All the Wielders knew their strengths and weaknesses.

  “Why is Tiopan Lunder such a challenge, Father?” asked the Warp.

  “I’ve seen off my fair share of mages, wizards, conjurors and illusionists before. Lunder is different. He summoned a Qamunol and made it do his bidding. His wards are like nothing I’ve seen before – it’s almost as if he’s a Wielder.”

  The Warp and Weft looked at him. “If there was another Wielder, we’d know about it,” said one.

  Skulks knew this to be the truth. “I didn’t say he was a Wielder. I just wouldn’t want him to catch me unawares. He might have tricks.”

  “What’s the plan, then?” asked the boy.

  “We’re going to Lunder’s house tonight. We need to be careful; I think he’s responsible for the kidnapping of Heathen Spout and I don’t want her to get hurt.”

  The Warp and Weft nodded in unison.

  Jowls and chicken livers arrived and were duly polished off along with the three mugs of Mage’s Sock. The Warp was just about to raise her hand to order a second round of ale when Skulks suggested a tour of the city instead. It had been many years since the Warp and the Weft had been to Hardened. On top of that, Skulks knew that while they could both drink more than one might expect, they tended to squabble when they’d had half a dozen mugs of ale and he knew that listening to it would interfere with his thought processes. Admittedly, he’d never seen drunkenness interfere with their magical abilities, but nevertheless he didn’t want to try and break into Lunder’s house with two bickering wizards in tow.

  Not that the Warp and the Weft were children as such. They looked like children, but as far as Skulks was aware they were older than he and he was old even amongst the Wielders. While he had dealt with them many times, they remained something of a mystery. Often they acted like children, yet sometimes they spoke with such precision that they revealed a depth of wisdom and knowledge which had baffled many an adult who didn’t know what they were. Individually he knew them to be powerful, but together they magnified the abilities of the other, woven together intricately like the threads from which they had adopted their names.

  He wondered what would happen if they ever came to face Ten Hands. Skulks had seen an angry Ten Hands pick up a Rhultian galley at two hundred paces and dash it against the harbour wall at Crimson. He’d once shattered the guards of five lesser mages in the Vultos wars and burned them to ashes. However, Skulks had never seen the Warp and the Weft truly angry and thought even Ten Hands might find the two of them combined more than a match. It was fortunate that they weren’t enemies.

  As they made to leave, Skulks saw that a lady on a nearby table, who had become increasingly agitated as time progressed, had left her chair. She came over to them.

  “My good sir!” she scolded him. “Does your wife know that have brought your children into a drinking establishment as ill-reputed as this one and that furthermore they have partaken of ale?”

  “My dearest lady,” Skulks responded. “These children are my wards from High Domes, come at the behest of their father with instruction that they be shown all sides of life in Hardened, that it fortify them for their life as adults. This is a High Domesian rite of passage!”

  The lady was deflected by this, but gathered herself for another upbraiding, “Sir, that is patently nonsense! Children should be given time to be children, and not introduced to such slovenly underbellies of the adult world as this!”

  “My lady, I see that you yourself are enjoying a drink in this establishment of which you are so uncomplimentary. Perhaps had you benefitted at an early age from the experience I am bestowing upon these fine children, you would now be a lady of standing, rather than a mid-day booze hound! Now good day to you!”

  With that, Skulks and children left the Crispy Shredded Leper, leaving the woman tutting and complaining to the unconcerned staff.

  For a time after this, they wandered the streets of Hardened. Skulks was hungry again from his exertions against the Qamunol and had a spit chicken in each hand whilst he attempted to retain control of a meatloaf which was tucked under one arm. When Skulks had finished the first chicken, he dropped the denuded carcass and twelve Slivers into a blind beggar’s bowl. When his pockets were full, Skulks cared little for the money he had and often distributed it most generously - carelessly, even.

  As it happens, Clerk
Souter, whom Skulks met upon his first visit to the Chamber Building, had just that morning opened up the hidden drawer of his desk to look despondently upon the list of his gambling debts, to find a neat pile of four-hundred and seventy-six Slivers in there, which was the exact value of that which he owed. There was also a hand-written note telling him not to be so stupid in the future and separate to that, Souter was left with the suspicion that someone unknown had interfered with the order of his ‘to do’ pile for the second time in the last few days. In other words, and in spite of the grave kidnapping of Heathen Spout, Skulks had still found time to break into Clerk Souter’s office, donate to him a sum of money stolen from the deceased Lisan Flamuscrax, cause a minor mischief and then return to the matters at hand.

  The path to Tiopan Lunder’s house took them past the Chancery Fountain, the time coincidentally being a little after the hour of five. Incurious Spelk was there, imploring the gathered crowd into giving ever more generously to Plumpus the Rat God. Skulks saw that the numbers in attendance hadn’t grown appreciably from his last visit and he recognized a few of the faces from that sermon. The voice of Spelk rolled over the crowd:

  “And why have my flock been withholding their coin from me?” Plumpus asked as I communed with his spirit. “Is my promise of life everlasting not sufficient for them? Do they want more from their god?” Spelk paused. “The Rat God Plumpus is angry!”

  There were a few tearful outpourings from the crowd, but Skulks also heard some mutterings at the outskirts, where the newcomers were gathered. The voices weren’t loud enough to reach the ears of Spelk, but carried enough to be heard by those close by.

  “This Plumpus seems to have very short paws and very deep pockets.”

  “I reckon Plumpus would marry his mother’s favourite pig for a Quarter-Sliver.” There was some chuckling at this.

  The self-styled prophet of the Rodent God continued:

  “The Rat God Plumpus is also angry that his followers are so meek! So meek as to accept the weak rule of the Chamber Council, who allow strikes to continue and food to run short! Plumpus wishes his believers to be strong! Strong enough to make Hardened once more a city worth ruling!”

  One of the earlier jokers piped up, louder and bolder now.

  “At least the Chamber Council don’t hand out collection jugs at the end of every meeting!”

  Spelk’s greed was losing his flock. Skulks was sure the truly faithful would cling on for a few weeks longer, but the crowds would gradually diminish until eventually Incurious Spelk would be either lynched or he’d simply disappear. Whoever had hired him to sow discord in the city had picked the wrong man and Skulks was certain that Spelk was just a minor fraudster who had fooled his employers into trusting him with a task that allowed him to enrich himself as he performed it. Skulks stooped down and whispered to the Warp and the Weft, who nodded.

  “And today, my friends, comes your chance to redeem yourselves. The Rat God Plumpus is almost ready to appear and reclaim his place amongst us and to make Hardened great once more. Place all that you have into the sacred Urns of Giving, the greater your generosity, the greater the…,” Incurious Spelk stuttered in his delivery, for he had just noticed a smell. None of the crowd seemed to notice it.

  “…the greater the joy of…,” It was the smell of cheese - powerful, mature cheese. And it seemed to be emanating from the Rat God’s very own prophet.

  “…the joy of….,” Spelk continued, struggling to get back into the flow of his spiel as the odour of a ten-years-matured Primpuplat Blue assailed his nostrils. He heard a rustling sound behind him and, looking into the fountain, saw a pack of large yet emaciated rats were there, scrabbling up the side of the fountain as they frantically tried to reach something.

  Incurious Spelk suddenly realised what might drive a hungry pack of rats mad with its scent. The crowd gathered in the square looked puzzled at the antics of the self-styled prophet, who had suddenly started to caper madly on the spot. Without warning, he ran around half the circumference of the fountain, dropped onto the ground where there were fewest people gathered and sprinted off in the direction of the Hotel of Wines, with his robes hitched up to allow him to attain a greater speed. Hot on his heels, a moderately-sized swarm of rats followed, scampering rapidly after the source of the delicious smell.

  The disciples of the Rat God Plumpus, those fervent and those unconvinced, stared at the vision of the Rat God’s prophet fleeing Chancery Square with pursuing rats nibbling at his heels. They didn’t know what to make of it, but it definitely didn’t look good for Spelk.

  For every attendee who looked worried or uttered a “We have failed Plumpus” there was another with a comment of a different kind:

  “Rats is attracted to dung,” said one. “Maybe they could smell it coming from his mouth.”

  Skulks looked down at his companions; like him, they also liked a bit of showmanship. He recalled one occasion when a thirty-foot-long Fruit Snake (which were badly-named for they detested fruit) happened upon them at their camp deep in the forest of a remote island in Treads. Rather than taking the most efficient route of bombarding it with flames or sparks, the Warp and Weft had used their Wielding to hoist it up into the air, swing it a few times in a big loop and then tie it to a tree.

  Then there was the time they’d had to disable a pursuing sailing vessel packed with high explosives and angry Rhultian wizards. Skulks could have imagined a dozen more practical methods than turning the sails into fish, each of which exploded in a harmless pop, scattering different-coloured lights in every direction like a beautiful fireworks display late on a summer’s evening.

  Skulks supposed that after a few hundred years, flames, lightning and ice storms would become boring. In fact, he realised that he liked to introduce a bit of panache into his work as well. He could walk down any busy street and be a comparatively rich man by the time he reached the end of it. Instead, he liked to set the scene, pretending to bumble into a steaming turd, or acting the part of a simpleton in order to scam five Slivers from a street magician. He’d also try to set himself targets to make a job trickier, such as stealing a wizard’s robes while said victim was perusing a market stall, or plucking the feathers off a chicken before filching it. Maybe he, too, was becoming bored. This was an unusual amount of introspection for Skulks, a man not known to show talent in this direction.

  Most attendees of the Rat God’s sermon hadn’t waited around to see if Spelk returned. They simply drifted away from Chancery Square, many of them relieved that they’d been presented with the opportunity to evade the all-grasping paw of Plumpus. Skulks and his companions didn’t wait around either. Having work to do, they set off in the direction of the docks.

  By the time the trio had dawdled their way to the abode of Tiopan Lunder, the sky had darkened sufficiently that Skulks deemed it appropriate for them to approach the house. The route had taken them a little over one hour to accomplish, during which time they had passed a man standing on the steps of a doorway, delivering the Word as told by Scretal of the Ninety-Nine Buttocks.

  “And Scretal sayeth ter wers that wer needs ter believe in him, else he’s going ter come and he’s going ter deliver unto wers his mighty wrath. And the almighty Scretal will bring wers food and wood fer wer fire.”

  A smattering of people looked on, nodding.

  Though the streets they had taken did not lead towards or past the Hotel of Wines, the route of Incurious Spelk had done so. Finding the plague of rats had mysteriously vanished a hundred yards out of Chancery Square, he had made haste to his room. The auguries told him that it was time to skedaddle and he shoved spare robes and clothes into his portmanteau, before unlocking and opening the second drawer of his bedside cabinet, wherein he found not the expected thirteen hundred and forty-one Slivers, but a piece of cheese and a stuffed rat. As the last week’s hotel bills remained unpaid, Spelk was forced to throw his travelling case down onto the street, clamber after it with an alacrity unusual amongst men of relig
ion and make good his escape from the city.

  As Incurious Spelk was fleeing underneath the great gate through which Skulks had entered the city some days previously, the latter was evaluating the house of Tiopan Lunder with a care he did not normally bestow upon those houses he was about to deprive of their material wealth. He looked down at the Warp and the Weft and saw that they had taken his warnings aboard and were fully warded, signs and sigils so closely bound about their bodies that it made Skulks almost dizzy to try and follow them. Had he wished to do so it would have taken him an enormous effort to remove even a fraction of their defences. In addition, he saw that some of the wards jumped between the wizards, expanding and contracting as they moved closer or apart. They were woven together as their name implied, each giving strength to the other.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Lunder’s house was on the outskirts of Hardened, near the docks. This made perfect sense for a merchant who relied on the import of goods for his wealth. It was opulent though not excessively so, yet still grand enough to be a single construction, rather than a patchwork of several different houses and businesses. It was part of a terrace of similar houses with three stories, no back gardens and only a small piece of land at the front, containing low-maintenance gardens. The front windows of Lunder’s house were unlit, but a faint glow gave suggestion that there might be occupants in some of the rooms deeper within.

  Many of the buildings close to the docks were as old as Hardened itself, previously owned by harbour masters, sea captains or rich merchants like Lunder. Consequently, they’d managed to stay in the ownership of families powerful enough to resist attempts to build on or over them. Though it was rich by most measures, Hardened still had a gulf between the withs and the withouts. If one had the money, one could buy a bit of space. If one were an honest baker, butcher or blacksmith, one might find nine other families within the arc of a horse’s piss, some of whom probably had to come through one’s living room to get to their kitchen or their privy.