by Tim Paulson
Giselle sat in the booth stewing. A keralti holding a tray appeared after a few minutes.
“What would you like?”
“I'm waiting for someone,” Giselle replied.
“Look, honey, we encourage deals of all kinds here, but you have to order something,” the waitress replied sternly.
“I... don't really have any money,” she said.
“Comely girl like you? Surprising. You could do well if-”
Ah, so this wasn't just a tavern. Giselle held up a hand. “I'll stop you right there. I'm married.”
“So are most of the girls. Anyway, think it over,” the server replied.
There was a crash from a balcony above. It was followed by the sound of a man yelling something incoherent.
The server grumbled. “Again?”
“Problems with a guest?” Giselle asked.
The server shook her head, jingling the golden rings in her round ears together. “You don't know the half of it,” she said and stalked off.
The yelling became louder.
“And... I want another damn... pitcher of ale. Now!” the man bellowed, his head peeking out of the door above. Giselle recognized him immediately and bolted from her seat and up the stairs, passing two scantily clad dierlijt girls on the way.
Giselle shook her head. How she hadn't realized the character of this place sooner, escaped her. Celia had been right, she needed to pay more attention to her surroundings.
“Uncle!” Giselle snapped. “What are you doing in a dockside dierlijt brothel?”
Wilhelm's head lolled in her direction. “Hmmm?”
She grabbed him by the shirt, pushing him into his room. “Get in there. Explain this to me!”
“Giselle?” the former king mumbled. “What... you doing here?”
“Go lie down!” she ordered, pointing to the bed, where a largely undressed woman still lay partially covered by blankets. “Then... you tell me first. Why did you come down here? What are you doing? I expected you to gather your friends and allies and take back the kingdom!”
Wilhelm sat on the bed, he tried to anyway, but instead slid to the floor, his legs splayed. At least he was wearing pants, thank God for small favors.
“I... don't know,” he replied.
A dark shadow appeared in the doorway. Giselle turned to see the leothan she'd spied before. It was Thira. She closed the door behind her.
“Quiet down, please... The humans here don't know about him and I wish it to remain that way,” Thira said.
“What? He's got to declare himself and rally the people. Faustland must live again!”
Wilhelm laughed but it had no mirth to it. It was short and bitter.
“Why?” he asked.
“Why? How can you ask that?” Giselle retorted, stepping further into the very messy room. “Because you were a wonderful king. Faustland was incredibly prosperous during your rule. Father always talked about it. He thought the world of you and so do I!”
Wilhelm shook his head slowly. “Marcus was a great man. Truly great. Once in a century great. I was lucky to have met him. Now he's gone and it's all over.”
“Madre de Dios! Can you two shut up?” came a voice from the bed as the dark-haired woman adjusted herself, pulling up the covers. The movement of the fabric dislodged something leaning against the bed which fell over with a thump. It was a wooden leg.
“The girl will be leaving soon,” Wilhelm replied over his shoulder.
“Where's our ale?” the woman on the bed asked.
“It's coming,” Wilhelm said to her.
“It's not coming,” Thira said, crossing her arms. “I told them no.”
Both Wilhelm and the girl in his bed glared at her.
“This is insane! You're a king! You shouldn't be here... in some brothel with a whore! You should be saving us!” Giselle said.
Dark eyes locked on Giselle from the bed. “I am not a whore, girl.”
Giselle shook her head, “Whatever... my point is... Uncle... What are you doing here?”
“I'm drowning my sorrows, what does it fucking look like?” he replied. “Now leave me be.”
“This is stupid. You haven't just disappointed me , uncle... you've let down our whole country!” Tears filled her eyes. “I can't even look at you like this. I hope I never see you again!”
Giselle stormed past Thira, yanking open the door. Without another word she left the room and rushed down the stairs to find a shocked looking Ina standing in front of their former booth. Next to her, unfortunately, was Piotr.
“Where did you go?” Ina asked.
“It's not important. Did you get the medicine?” Giselle asked, wiping tears from her eyes.
“Yes.”
“Then let's go.”
“You are looking upset. Want to tell Piotr the problem?” Piotr asked.
“No!” Giselle snapped. “We're leaving.”
“I also am coming,” Piotr said.
“What?”
“I hope you're not mad, but I thought it would be good. I want to make it home in one piece,” Ina said.
“And you,” Piotr pointed a claw at Giselle, yet again. “Are owing me.”
Giselle sighed through her teeth. “Fine.”
* * *
Celia awakened to a nasty throbbing in her head... and the feeling like someone was touching her leg. She sat up quickly. It was a person, a man, an ugly man. It was cold here as well, the parts of her in contact with the stone floor were nearly numb. The thick stench of human sweat, urine, and excrement made her nose burn. This had to be a holding cell, likely the local magistrate's.
“Get your hands off me!” she said, kicking at him with a bare heel. Someone had already stolen her boots. The one-piece black suit from Vex was gone as well, replaced with a ragged frock and that was all. No wonder she was cold. That suit had been a wonder, drying quickly, far warmer than it ought to be given its thickness, a marvel. It had been all she had left. Now it was gone.
The man smiled. Though it was dark, she could see he was actually younger than she'd seen at first glance. Life had been hard on him. His skin was blotched from the sun, his hair missing in patches along his lumpy scalp, and his teeth were virtually nonexistent.
“What's the matter, love? We're all dead here. Why not get a little fun before we go eh?” He crept closer, his eyes hungrily roving her body.
“Stay back!” Celia warned him.
He did not, he kept moving closer, his fingers pulsing. “I like it better when they're awake. The fish that wriggles tastes the best you know,” his tongue flicked out, rubbing chapped lips. “I've got an eel to show you.”
“What? A heel?” Celia asked, gritting her teeth as she drew in for the strike. “Sure.”
Her body twisted as her right leg lanced out, smashing her heel into the dirty man's crotch.
He let out a cry like a bleating goat and collapsed to the stone, gasping as both hands gripped his center.
Celia backed up against the wall near an old man. The old man nodded his head slowly, he had white hair so dirty it could easily have been confused with black. What could a man like this possibly have done to earn imprisonment?
“That was a mistake,” said a woman's voice from the dark. She was quite rotund but had nearly rolled herself into a ball so tight she was barely visible behind the old man. All Celia could see of her was that her hair was all over the place and appeared to be missing in several places. Had it fallen out or been torn out?
“Damn right it was. The fool shouldn't be touching women who don't want it,” Celia replied.
“She means your mistake girl,” the old man wheezed.
The bleating would-be assailant was gone now, his noises had ceased. He must have retreated to the other side of the cage but it was too dark to know for sure.
“Let him come back. There's more for him,” Celia said.
The woman did not reply, she just looked away, lips moving like she was muttering something to herself.
/>
Celia scanned her surroundings more thoroughly now that she was awake. Even though her head still throbbed. It was best to take it all in, to take stock. If she was lucky, perhaps she could effect an escape. It wouldn't be her first.
The only useful light came from a window above and it didn't extend far, meaning they were likely below ground level. That did not bode well, the holding cells they let you out of were on the main floor. They'd spit on you, throw cold water and piss, then, suitably chastised, you were free to go. At least, that's how it had always been in Arden or Fenasia. Of course, in those places, women and men were kept separately. Actually... that was odd.
“Old man. Why are men and women together here? Isn't this a magistrate's holding cell?”
The old man chuckled, wheezing a bit until the wheeze progressed to a deep wet cough that lasted for a long time.
Celia pursed her lips. “I'm sorry... forget I asked.”
“This isn't man's law... this is God's judgment upon us for our sin. We are forsaken. Repent not sister. It will do you no good,” said the woman behind him. Her eyes stared off into space, glassy like she wasn't there at all.
The old man nodded until his wheezing subsided enough for him to speak. “She's correct,” he said softly.
“What? I stole some ham, stowed away on a ship. I ought to get a fine, held for a few days, pissed on... the usual things.”
The old man shook his head. “Not how its done in Faustland, not for years.”
“And the wicked ones had lain with each other in all manner of foul and unnatural ways and they hath cursed his holy name, and rejected his holy word, and God said unto them: I judge thee wanting-” the woman continued, quoting Tian verses softly.
Were they Tian though? These sounded different than Celia remembered. Perhaps it was one of the reformer works. She'd heard they liked to change the books to suit their own beliefs.
Celia shook her head. “Is she serious?”
The old man coughed again, but only once this time, recovering quickly enough to speak. “For us, this life has ended. The white carts will come... they will carry us to hell.”
“Bah... don't listen to them idiots,” said another voice. It was a middle-aged man missing an arm. He leaned into the light so she could see his pockmarked face.
“Yeah... Well what do you think this is?” Celia asked.
The man's remaining arm patted his chest. He too wore a dirty frock. They all did. Why take everyone's clothes?
“I'm a butcher, or I was until I cut myself too deep six months back and lost my arm. My wife kicked me out and I drunk myself into a stupor until they picked me up. I knew they'd come. There's stories about it all the time in the bars. They take men and women that's accused of simple crimes, people with no one looking for them. They go in the white carts... and they disappear.”
Celia did not like the sound of this. She had no family who'd be looking for her... not anymore. She hadn't told this to anyone as none had asked, but she'd been with the clen for several months, they must have guessed.
Risha. She must have known what would happen.
That bitch.
“What do you think happens? Where are they taken?” Celia asked.
“Isn't it obvious?” he replied, eyes wide, but frowning, judging her an imbecile for her question.
“Uh... No?”
“Where the fuck have you been? Living under the cobbles?” the one-armed man asked.
“And lo, behold ye shall meet my spirits of vengeance and be riven asunder-” said the portly woman, quietly to herself.
“It's a long story,” Celia replied.
“Well, I don't give two shits what it is. But I'll tell you the truth of it, that these idiots doesn't know,” he leaned even closer. “It's the fucking dierlijt.”
Celia frowned. “What?”
His eyes widened. “Yeah... we have more here than any other large city on the continent. I read it in the print sheets myself.”
That was incredibly idiotic. No dierlijt could eat human flesh, it was poison to them, this was well known among them and anyone who spent any time with them.
“You can read? I'm surprised,” Celia retorted.
“Yeah I can... and I read that the old king did it, before he killed himself, that fucker. He made a deal with the animals... gave them a portion of us, those that's poor, drunk, stealin to live, so the beasts don't kill us all in the night.”
Celia shook her head. The man was a moron.
“Verily shalt thou find him... in the lowliest of places...” continued the other woman, rocking back and forth.
“Did you hear me? They give us to them. That's what's gonna happen. We're gonna be on some dierlijt dinner table,” the former butcher said, his stump waving furiously.
“I heard...” Celia said.
“Woe to the unbelievers who crawl on their bellies like serpents, forked tongues wagging with endless falsehoods. They shall suffer the greatest of my wroth,” the woman continued.
“Would you fucking quit it woman?” the butcher snapped at her, pointing his stump like he meant to impale her upon it.
Celia pulled her legs up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. Tears began to form in the corners of her eyes. She shouldn't have left Giselle... she'd had it good then, even when they'd been running. Giselle always had a way to find friends, people who would help her. Celia didn't have that skill, whatever it was.
She'd do it all again though, faster than the beat of a bat's wing. She'd steal Vex's green stone and leave Giselle, without a second thought. She'd wanted to see him, so much. Never in her life had Celia felt at home, at peace, like she had with him, in his glorious dark palace. Even now, the very thought of it calmed her. The smooth undulating walls, the lights that illuminated as you moved and darkened as you left, even the smell of the place, clean and cool, like a crypt. It haunted her, charmed her, called her.
That had been the best moment of her life. She'd come so close to happiness. At least she had that. Whatever came from this place, whatever the white carts meant, they couldn't take that from her.
Chapter 5
“Weak and skittish, the smaller akkikul male can still become aggressive if caught by surprise, and they are quite strong.”
-Excerpt from the Dierlijt Recognition Guide, revised edition, distributed by Republican Publishing, 1620
Staring up as Ina ascended the steel rungs that led to the opened grate above, Giselle couldn't wait to get out. Fighting off rats and other things that crept in the dark while choked by the stench of pooling excrement flowing in rivers at her feet was not her idea of a grand day out. The torch on the ground behind her was keeping them at bay for the moment but it wouldn't last forever.
“Please go faster,” she said.
“I'm going as fast as I can!” Ina snapped back. “You're the one who told me to go before you.”
Giselle's legs wouldn't stop shaking. “I know... I know.”
The young keralti hit the top rung as the silhouette of a long neck and a small head appeared above her.
“No one is here, give hand,” Piotr said, pulling Ina out.
Giselle sighed with relief, taking hold of the first rungs but the sound of pattering feet on wet stone caused her to look back with alarm. The last flames of Piotr's torch had now gone. Its low halo of orange light had been replaced by many shining eyes, peering from the edge of the dark.
“Giselle, come on!” Ina yelled down.
She started climbing as fast as she could. Her riding boots hadn't exactly been crafted for ascending slick metal rungs. This forced her to hook each foot carefully, one step at a time. Worse, the snow on the ground above was melting from the heat of the sewer causing muddy slush to keep dripping down into her hair. She didn't want to let go of the rungs to pull up the hood of her cloak though, as she might lose purchase on the ladder.
“What you doing? Having nap down there?” Piotr said, sounding irritated.
“I'm coming!” Gisel
le snapped. “I'm going as fast as I can.”
“Should go faster. Torch is being out,” Piotr replied. “They will come.”
“I know!” Giselle yelled up at him.
One more rung. Two more rungs. Just six more to go. She wasn't going to fall. It was going to be fine. In only moments she'd be back at the bakery, stuffing a soft pretzel into her face with a hot cup of tea. Milk too, the tea would have milk.
On the next step her boot slipped, shifting her weight enough to cause both feet to slide off.
Giselle screamed.
“Giselle!” Ina cried from above.
She was now hanging by her arms, gripping with all her might as fingers inexorably slid from the rungs. Then her right foot swung back and caught the edge of the next wrung with the toe. It gave her just enough purchase to get her left boot back on.
“Everything going good?” Piotr asked.
Giselle, scowled, looking up. “What do you think?”
There were eyes now... to her left and right. Were they climbing on the very walls? Oh no, no, no... that meant they probably weren't rats but the scaled lizard-like sewer slickers Piotr had told her about. He'd said they were known for their paralyzing poison. One bite wasn't enough to do more than tingle but according to the weaselman you rarely got just one bite.
“Giselle come up!”
She could do this, she had to. They were counting on her. Not just Ina, but Aaron too. She couldn't die without seeing her husband again, wherever he was.
It was time to go fast. One. Two. Three.
One of the creatures shrieked by her right ear. Was it trying to scare her from the ladder? Were they smart enough for that?
Four. Five. Six. Piotr reached in and grabbed her arms, lifting her out.
“Oof... Living at bakery. Can tell.”
Giselle stood up as he pushed the sewer grate back in place, brushing herself off.
“I have not gotten fat!” she said, turning to Ina. “Tell him! I'm no bigger than when I arrived.”
Ina's eyes drifted downward. “Uh... Let's go inside.”
Looking up, Giselle was surprised to see they were directly behind the bakery. The weaselman had navigated them entirely through the sewers without a map. It was impressive. Not that she would tell him that. He would use it as another way to claim a reward.