When he was able to open his eyes without seeing dancing purple blobs, he turned his head and gazed along the floor of his new haven. What he saw made him stifle a sob. The stable was empty. Thoroughly empty, without even a pile of mouse bones left behind after all the hay had rotted away. Marius swung his stare towards the other wall, wavering in and out of vision above his head. It was only four feet or so, a fraction of the distance he had already travelled. It just seemed such a very large fraction, that was all. Marius raised himself to his hands and knees, and slid clumsily over to the lip. He leaned back, and raised his arms so his fingers curled against the upper wall. Such a little effort, to rear up and pull himself over the edge. Such a small thing, to have a heart attack and die, again, under the water where nobody would ever know what had become of him. Then Gerd could go about his dead man’s business as it suited him, and Keth could find herself a nice, rich, gentleman and settle down and have a hundred babies and as many cats running about as many gardens as she liked. Marius closed his eyes. No. He’d be damned if he was going to let Gerd get away with things that easily. And as for Keth, if she was going to settle down and have a hundred babies with anybody…
Marius sank back onto his haunches, then his backside, staring dumbly out into the room. Across the way, sideways women beckoned to him with whips and smiles that still seemed a little too knowing for just a horse. Something small and very important inside him fell over and broke with a sound that may have been his subconscious slapping itself on the forehead. Marius stared into the dark for a long time, the memory of everything he had ever done with Keth, and everything they had ever said, scrolling slowly past his internal eye. When he got to their last meeting, Marius winced. The broken thing inside him cramped, and stayed that way. Oh God, he thought. She already knew she loved me. He regained his knees, and reached for the wall above him. It was no longer a matter of visiting a mad practical joke upon those who had bestowed this death upon him. He had a real mission now, one that sank into his bones with an urgency he had never before experienced. Getting back to the dead was only the first part. After that, he had to get to Keth. After that, well, he would get what he deserved. His grasping fingers found the edge, and he pulled himself upwards with renewed strength.
The first thing he saw as he crested the wall were the bones. A small heap of them, tucked into the back of the stable, pushed into untidy confusion by the gentle movement of the water. Marius slid down towards them. There was no skull visible, nothing that could be identified as king or sailor, nor even, Marius noted, as human. From any sort of distance they were simply a confused jumble. Marius came to a stop and plunged his hands into the pile, pushing bones to either side as he rummaged amongst them. The eddies created by his movements brought the discarded bones nudging back against the pile, and Marius quelled the desire to pick them up and fling them away. If this was Nandus, he would need them to piece together the skeleton once he found a way to transport them all ashore.
He was almost at the bottom when his hands met with a smooth, round object just smaller than the ball he had owned as a child. He grasped it firmly, and slowly pulled it out—a hard sphere, shining dully yellow where it was not stained black by the rotting of flesh. Two dark orbs stared out over a small triangular opening, and a row of off-kilter teeth grinned at him from a multitude of angles below. Marius felt a sudden surge of elation – ringing the top of the skull, glued on by a thin line of dark matter he chose not to examine too closely, was a corroded circlet of gold. A vertical wedge of metal rose from the spot between the eyes, containing a single, large emerald. Marius recognized Nandus’ crown, and closed his eyes for a moment in thanks. He could have kissed the mad, dead bugger, if not for the fact that he was a rotting skull, and hanging from the circlet was something that very closely resembled a bridle and bit. Marius decided not to re-examine the look on the whip-lady carvings. He picked away at the clasps until he was able to peel away the bridle, holding it between forefinger and thumb and flicking it away behind him. Well, he thought, raising the skull so they faced each other eye to missing eye, hello, Your Majesty.
“Who are you?” a voice boomed inside Marius’ head. “Why do you greet me in such a manner?”
Marius screamed and dropped the skull, reflexively pushing himself backwards until he teetered on the edge of the drop, and only saved himself by clenching every muscle below his navel really hard. The skull rolled to the edge of the pile of bones, and as Marius stared at it in terror, it slowly swung around until it faced him.
“Do you mind?” the voice asked indignantly. “How dare you come into my presence, and scream like some sort of madman? What kind of gaoler are you?”
Slowly, Marius raised his hand to his mouth. As he stared, something shifted within the pile of bones. “Well?” the voice demanded. Marius opened his mouth, then closed it. This is impossible, he thought.
“What is impossible?”
Marius blinked.
“You can hear me?” He directed the thought towards his disembodied Yorick.
“Of course I can hear you. You’re no more than four feet away from me, you idiot. Which damn god sent you to torment me? Oceanus? Is it him? Come out, damn you!” Marius winced at the volume inside his head. “Come out, Oceanus, you watery coward!”
While Nandus’ skull ranted and shouted for Oceanus to show himself, Marius took the opportunity think quietly for a moment. That the pile of bones was Nandus was plain, and equally plain was that the madness he bore in life had stayed on beyond his death, needing only the appearance of another soul to draw him into conversation. With no way to form words, it was his life force that spoke, burrowing directly from Nandus’ bodiless consciousness to his. We can talk, Marius realized. We can converse. I don’t have to simply carry him back to shore and dump him on the dead. I can persuade him that it’s the right thing to do. He snuck a peek at the raving King, and all thought stopped. The pile of bones was on the move. What’s more, it had grown smaller, because a number of them had found their neighbours. A hand and forearm had risen from of the pile. As Marius watched, it drew out a socketed bone, which it fit on to its base, before finding another and fitting it alongside. A leg slid out from underneath, and a pelvis emerged to nestle against its upper end. Oh, my good God, Marius thought. It seems I won’t even have to carry him.
“Carry me where?” the voice intruded, and almost without thinking, Marius lowered the mental partition that separated his conscious and unconscious thoughts. Almost three decades of removing his facial features from his inner workings made such an action automatic. He counted to three, and projected what he hoped was a suitable air of secrecy.
“Not so loud, my liege,” he projected. “They’ll hear you.”
“Hear me?” Marius was gratified to hear Nandus lower its voice. “Who?”
“Your tormenters.” He made a great show of turning from side to side, as if seeking out approaching strangers. “We don’t have much time.”
“Who are you?”
Marius was fascinated by the sliding bones. As he and Nandus talked they slithered across each other like petrified snakes, fitting into each other soundlessly, almost absent-mindedly. Of course, the part of him that he had shielded from Nandus thought. He doesn’t know he’s dead. He doesn’t see it, so therefore, it can’t be. He sees a full body, so his body behaves in the right way. I could probably steal half his bones and the rest would simply compensate, and he’d never notice anything was wrong.
“Marius don Hellespont,” he projected. “Son of Raife, Your Majesty. Seventh generation Scorban, loyal to the crown.” That, at least, was mostly true. His father, like any good trader, was loyal to the crown, no matter who wore it, or which crown it was. Can’t make a living in prison, he’d always said. He’d been wrong, but Marius did not treasure the ways in which he had found out. The skull swivelled on its axis, imitating his movement, and Marius did his best not to shiver.
“Why are you here, don Hellespont?”
&n
bsp; “To… to rescue you, sire. Your loyal subjects need you.” Again, that was mostly true, he thought. No need to define exactly which subjects they were. The skeleton’s hands reached down and picked up the skull, gently lowering it into place atop the completed vertebrae and setting it in place with a quick twist. Moments later, the final ribs were in position, and the skeleton swung about until it knelt on hands and knees, its blank, empty face pushed next to Marius’.
“Lead on, don Hellespont”, it said, and Marius nodded once, before turning his back upon it with a sense of relief and surveying the room. The corner from which he’d swum lay a dozen feet below him, barely visible through the gloom. Almost as far across lay the massive black opening of the doorway. Marius measured the distance. If he could get that far, push off hard and swim for all he was worth, he should be able to avoid falling past the lower edge of the door, some four feet or so below his current level. As long as he could make that perch it should be a small matter to clamber through and make his way back on to the outer deck of the ship. From there, he could climb down the incline of the boat to the sand, and use the alignment of the hulk to get his bearings. Then all he had to do was keep Nandus on side until he could get back to shore and find a way to contact the dead. Simple. Memories of his effort to rise from the stable floor made him gulp. The hard part would come first. He pointed towards the door.
“Down there, sire,” he said. “We make that opening, and put its bulk between us and your gaolers. Once outside, they’ll never catch us. Uh,” He glanced back at the skeleton. “Are you sure you can… uh… make it?”
The skeleton clapped a hand on his shoulder. Marius tried not to flinch. “Have no fear, brave peon,” Nandus said. “There’s good blood in this body. I’ve the strength of a horse, and the bravery of one, too.”
“Right.”
“Wait!”
“What?” Marius had tensed for the jump. Nandus’ command caught him off-balance. It took an act of will to stop himself sliding forward onto his face and over the lip of their precarious perch.
“Littleboots!” Nandus’ skull was rotating from left to right, scanning a view Marius could not begin to guess at. “My brave steed. I cannot leave without him.”
Marius turned back, and made sure the lid of his subconscious was very tightly shut. He did not need Nandus to know what he was thinking right now.
“Waiting for us outside, I’m sure, sire. We must hurry, lest, uh, lest he be discovered.”
“Yes, yes! Onward, my subject. Hold fast, darling!” Nandus’ voice rang loud in Marius’ head. “Daddy will be with you soon!”
Marius did a quick tour of his mental shutters, testing the locks and doubling the guard. Then he gathered his legs beneath him, made sure of his aim, and launched himself into space.
The journey was less painful this time, in part because he was far less successful in keeping himself afloat. Marius made no attempt to gain height, or even to keep himself on an even keel. He was falling, but this time, he was more in control of his motion. Who knows, he thought, I might even get used to this. There are baths in Borgho, and a club that swims the harbour in summer. I could join them. It could be a whole new lease of life for me. Images of himself, bronzed from the sun and muscular from all the swimming he was doing, flashed through his mind. He waved to the girls who had come to line the harbour wall, just to catch sight of him as he ploughed through the waves like a handsome, virile shark.
The door brought him back to the present by the simple expedient of striking him under the chin. Marius flailed for a moment, then grabbed the lower lip and hauled himself up. He twisted so that he sat facing the King’s skeleton, standing with feet braced on the golden floor of the stable.
“See?” he projected, hoping the King wouldn’t register the dull thumping in his jaw, or his wonderment at actually feeling pain. “Nothing to it.” He waved the King onward. “Your turn.”
The King looked right, then left, leaning out over the edge. “No sign of the enemy?”
Marius sighed. This was going to be a long pantomime. “No, my lord,” he replied. “But be quick.” He rolled his eyes, then stopped. No telling how good the King’s vision was. If Marius could see better now that he was dead, Nandus might be able to see forever without any eyes at all. “They may be back at any time.”
Nandus nodded. He stepped back, braced himself in an obscene parody of a runner about to leave his mark, then stepped forward and leaped from the stable wall.
Marius watched in shocked silence as the King sank a dozen feet to the bottom of the room, and gracefully broke apart. He closed his eyes, suddenly very alone on his perch.
“Fuck,” he said. “Fucking fuck.” He opened his eyes again and stared down into the blackness. Cruelly, Nandus’ skull had rolled into a shaft of lighter water. Marius could see the crown, a million miles out of his reach. He ran one hand down his face. He wasn’t prepared to contemplate the idea of climbing down to retrieve it, not just yet.
Something stirred across the floor below. Marius leaned forward. Something was moving across the pile of bones, crawling here and there with purpose, getting bigger as it moved.
“No,” he said. “No.”
The bones were sliding across each other as they had before, scuttling in larger and larger groups, joining together, slowly gaining form as Marius watched, his mouth agape. A hand reached out and plucked the skull from the floor, bending back to put it atop the spinal column. Marius frowned. There was something about the arm, something not quite right. He squinted, trying to get a clear view, then rocked back as Nandus rose to his feet and waved at Marius.
“Oh, good and most ancient Gods save your humble servant.”
Marius suddenly knew what was wrong with Nandus’ arm. It was not that it had an extra elbow, or that one of them bent in entirely the wrong direction, although that was bad enough. What was really wrong was King Nandus, and the fact that he was suddenly seven feet taller than he had been, and that his ribcage ran the length of his body from his vastly elongated neck to the massive pelvis that anchored his long, multi-jointed legs.
Nandus had landed upon Littleboots’ bones, and in his dead, mad state, had incorporated them into his own frame. He reached up an arm – fetlock, Marius tried not to scream, it’s a fetlock – and grasped the lower lip of the door, pulling himself up to balance precariously over Marius. He leaned down, and placed his human head next to Marius’ ear.
“Lead on,” he whispered. Marius stared past his skull, to the equine eyes that gazed back at him from deep within the huge chest cavity. Somewhere at the back of his senses, he thought he could hear something whinny. He turned away, closing his eyes against a sudden case of vertigo.
“This way,” he said, swallowed and tried again in a much less panicky tone. “Towards starboard.”
He pushed away from the door, refusing to hear the rattle of joints from the monstrosity in his wake.
The journey across the deck was a nightmare of controlled revulsion. Twice, Marius slipped on the overgrown wood, and twice Nandus steadied him by reaching out a parody of an arm. Each time, it took a conscious act of will not to leap away in fear. The third time it happened, Nandus leaned his monstrous neck down past Marius shoulder’ and tilted his head to look at him askance.
“Steady,” he said. “We’ll be free soon enough.”
Marius nodded, unable to speak. He regained his balance and slid towards the railing at the ship’s starboard edge. Nandus tiptoed after, his hoof-feet making dull double clicks against the wooden beams. Once they had achieved the railing, Marius leaned against it and looked over at the ocean floor, measuring the drop.
“We should be safe,” he said. “I’ll go first. Just… aim for a soft spot, or something.” He braced himself against the rail, then swung himself over. The sand came towards him more slowly than it should, giving him plenty of time to regret his leap before he struck it at an angle and rolled down the short incline to fetch his head up against the hull.
He staggered back, rubbing his head, and collapsed onto his back, looking up the side to the deck. Nandus waited a moment, then stepped over the edge and dropped lightly to the ground, a descent of no more than a couple of feet for his massively elongated legs. He bent down in an intricate motion of joints and bends, and offered a hand to Marius.
“Let’s go, man,” he said. Marius took the hand and began to pull himself up. Nandus snorted, and, Marius realized that assistance was not what his companion had in mind. Slowly, scarcely believing himself capable of the act, he tilted his face down and kissed the delicate arrangement of bones in Nandus’ hand.
“Your Majesty,” he replied, trying not to gag. Up close, the bones were pitted and scarred. Thirty years of providing meals for uncountable tiny ocean creatures were written upon their surface. He let go, and dragged himself to his feet.
The Corpse-Rat King Page 21