The Spook 9 - Slither's tale

by Joseph Delaney

  ‘Before you go, let us make the terms of the trade clear,’ the purra said.

  I stared at her in astonishment.

  ‘I know all about the importance of trade to your people,’ she continued. ‘If you do your utmost to return to me my stolen possessions and enable me to free myself, in return I will help you to slay the Haggenbrood. What is more, once we leave this place I will do nothing to hinder what you consider to be your lawful business. Is it a trade?’

  ‘I need time to reflect upon that. I will consider the possibility.’

  ‘There is little time! Before you go, ease the noose around my neck. Do it now!’

  I shook my head. ‘No, I cannot do that yet. First I will try to get the items that were taken from you. If I achieve that, I will return and do as you ask.’

  I did not yet trust the purra. I needed to consider the situation more carefully. And, as I told her, I wanted to see if I could retrieve her possessions and thus fulfil my part of the trade.

  The brow of the purra furrowed with anger but, without another word, I made myself very small and slithered out under the door.

  I RETURNED TO my quarters as swiftly as possible and waited there for Hom to make his report. Suddenly I felt very uncertain. The proposal made by the purra with pointed teeth had seemed reasonable at the time but now, away from her, I felt foolish.

  How could I have allowed myself to negotiate with a mere female like that? Was it skaiium? The same thing had occurred when I’d talked to Nessa and she had pressed her forehead against mine. I had been influenced unduly, and had then recklessly attempted the rescue of the youngest sister, killing a High Mage and a Shaiksa assassin in the process and bringing me to my present situation. Now it was happening again with this strange purra.

  Or perhaps she was using some sort of magic to control my thoughts and actions? After all, I knew nothing of this witch and her magic; my usual defences might not be effective.

  I took a deep breath and began to focus on the problem, putting aside my fears and attempting to assess the situation logically. There was no doubt that the human witch could create a magical illusion strong enough to pass herself off as Nessa. I had been prepared to release the girl to distract the Haggenbrood momentarily – so why not do the same with this purra? She was the assassin of a witch clan, and to slay four of the Oussa demonstrated that she was a formidable warrior.

  I also knew that I could enter her dungeon again undetected, and loosen the noose about her neck – that was all she had asked. I did not understand how she could then escape and reach my quarters in order to accompany me into the arena, but that was her problem. If she failed to do so, I would simply take the three sisters and keep to my original plan.

  The homunculus came out of his hole and clambered up onto the chair again.

  ‘Make your report!’ I commanded.

  ‘The weapons and the star-stone are in the Plunder Room of the Triumvirate,’ Hom announced.

  The Plunder Room was accurately named – that was where I had expected the items to have been placed. It was effectively the treasury of the Triumvirate, the place where confiscated goods of special interest or value were stored. It was well-guarded; too well-guarded – virtually impregnable. It would be impossible for me to retrieve the first two items required by the human witch.

  ‘Did you find the location of the leather sack?’ I asked.

  ‘It was disposed of – thrown down one of the rubbish chutes.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ I asked. How could something considered to be so important by the pointy-toothed purra have been discarded as worthless? I wondered.

  ‘Yes, the sack was opened and found to contain a severed head in such an advanced state of decomposition that it was dumped very quickly.’

  ‘Give me the location of the chute!’ I demanded. No doubt the rotting head it contained was an exceedingly loathsome, stinking abomination, but the purra considered it to be the most important of her possessions. Once I explained the impossibility of getting hold of the rest, it might be enough to satisfy her. Retrieving it should not prove difficult.

  ‘District Boktar North, Level Thirteen, chute 179,’ Hom replied.

  ‘I will go there immediately. Have one of your selves meet me there and take me directly to the sack.’

  It did not take me long to reach chute 179, which was working at full capacity. From above, it had the appearance of a huge concave half-cylinder with an oval hole at its centre. From the pipes overhanging it, all types of refuse were being disgorged into the gaping mouth of the stinking chute: mostly bones, slime, offal and excrement.

  The white skoya was covered in yellow-brown slime with clots of green, and I was glad that I did not have to climb down into the chute itself: there was a system of ladders provided for the maintenance workers. Their job, in addition to attending to the pipes and keeping the flow fast and free, was to descend into the area directly beneath the chute and use spades and carts to spread out the refuse. Otherwise the growing mound beneath would eventually block the flow.

  I negotiated the series of ladders. Looking down, I could see just one solitary Kobalos pushing a laden cart as he walked away from the flow from the chute. The presence of a haizda mage down here might be reported so I didn’t want to be noticed. There might be up to a dozen Kobalos employed at each chute, but each had to move his load some distance away: if I was lucky, no one would see me. Thus I decided to conserve my magic and dispense with the cloaking spell.

  Hom was waiting obediently at the foot of the ladder, his thin rat-tail twitching energetically. Without waiting to be told, he immediately scampered away and I followed, trudging through the muck and getting my boots dirty. It wasn’t long before we reached our objective. Finding it was easy; the problem was that someone had got there first. There were two figures in the distance, and one was holding the sack. They were engaged in conversation, and at first they did not notice my approach.

  But when I was within about twenty paces of them, the one with the sack spun round to face me.

  To my astonishment, I saw that it was a purra, but not one from Valkarky – she was a stranger. Unlike the one with pointed teeth, she wore a skirt that came down to her ankles, with a dirty fox-fur jacket buttoned at the neck. She was barefoot, with slime squelching up between her toes, and her face was twisted with hatred.

  I wondered if they were accomplices of Grimalkin – other human witches. If so, might they have similar magical powers and fighting abilities?

  ‘Drop the sack and go!’ I commanded. ‘You have no business in our city, but you may keep your lives.’

  The other purra was some distance behind the first and I couldn’t see her clearly, but I heard her cackle with laughter at my words.

  The nearer purra threw the sack to one side, drew a knife and began to stride towards me, a purposeful expression on her face. She began to mutter under her breath, and I realized that she was indeed a human witch and was trying to use magic against me. Within seconds her appearance changed dramatically. Her tongue protruded about an arm’s length from her mouth; it was forked like that of a snake. Next her face twisted into something bestial: large fangs grew down over her bottom lip, almost reaching her chin, and her hair became a nest of writhing snakes.

  I was not sure what the purpose of the transformation was. Perhaps it was intended to distract me in some way. There was no doubt in my mind that the witch had become marginally uglier than before, but it did not affect my concentration in the slightest.

  I stepped backwards, focused my mind, and before the knife came within range of my body, I drew my sabre and struck her head clean from her shoulders. She collapsed in a heap, blood spurting from the stump of her neck. I kicked the head away and prepared to face the second witch.

  This one approached me slowly. She was cackling again as if she found the whole business highly amusing. ‘I can keep my life, can I?’ she crowed. ‘And what life would that be?’

  For a moment I did not underst
and her meaning, but she was closer now, less than ten paces away, and I could smell loam, rot and dead flesh. The matted hair was crusted with dried mud and I could see maggots wriggling within it. Then something writhed and slowly emerged from her left ear. It was a fat, grey earthworm.

  I focused my hearing on her and concentrated. She was wheezing slightly but not breathing in any natural way, and there was no heartbeat. It could mean only one thing.

  She was correct: she had no life. She was already dead.

  She attacked, running directly towards me, hands outstretched, claws ready to rend my flesh.

  I am fast but the dead witch was faster. Her sudden attack took me by surprise, and the claws of her right hand missed my eye by a whisker.

  Her left hand didn’t miss, though. It clamped hard upon my own left wrist. I tried to pull it free but the grip tightened. Never had I encountered such strength. I punched her in the face with my free hand but she didn’t even flinch. Her fingers were like a tightening metal band cutting through flesh to squeeze the bone. My numbed hand released the sabre and it fell into the slime.

  I WAS A mage who had studied the occult for many years.

  However, I had no experience at all of entities that could function in bodies that were essentially dead. In that moment I realized how big a place the world was and how much I had yet to learn. We Kobalos have a history of fighting humans, but we believe them to be far more numerous than us. It is perhaps fortunate that they are divided into many conflicting kingdoms, but we have little knowledge of any who use magic in those more distant places. Thus I knew nothing of human witches and their powers. How, I wondered, could I kill something that was already dead?

  I drew a dagger with my free hand and plunged it into the witch’s throat. It had no effect, and again her claws lunged towards my face. I spun away, still gripped by the witch, our bodies stretched taut.

  Then I brought logic to bear upon the situation. I whirled the dagger across in a fast arc. The blade cut straight through the witch’s wrist, severing it from her body. She fell backwards into the slime, leaving her left hand behind, still gripping my wrist. But it began to twitch and slowly relax its hold, and it was the work of a moment to pull it off and cast it aside. By the time the dead witch had regained her feet, the sabre was back in my left hand and I was ready.

  I had no choice but to cut her into pieces. How else could I terminate her attack?

  Soon she had no arms or legs and could not even crawl. There was no blood – just a trickle of vile black fluid. To be sure, I sliced off her head, and held it up by the hair. Her eyes gazed back at me, full of fury, and her lips twitched as if she would speak. In disgust, I flung her head as far away as possible. Then I picked up the leather sack, retrieved my sabre, wiping it clean on the torso of the dismembered witch, and went back towards the ladder with Hom scampering at my heels.

  Soon I was safely back in my quarters. First I checked on the three sisters. They were sleeping with their arms around each other.

  Next I examined the sack and weighed it carefully in my hands. It was certainly extremely large. I remembered the warning given by the witch with pointed teeth, but I was curious to see such a head – that of the most powerful of their gods. Also, despite the report given to me by Hom, the head did not stink. So I undid the string and reached inside.

  I felt something sharp; something made of bone – two coiled objects. I peered into the sack. They were horns. This was a horned god. One of our own horned gods was called Unktus, but he was a relatively minor deity worshipped only by the lowest menials of the city. I lifted the head out of the sack, put it on the chair opposite me and studied it carefully.

  No wonder they had chosen it to be the chief of their gods. It was much more impressive than depictions of Unktus in the grottoes of worship. There was no sign of putrefaction, and the horns were not unlike those of a ram. Once it had surely been lordly and handsome despite its close approximation to the human form. However, it had been cruelly mutilated. One eye was missing and the other stitched shut. The mouth was stuffed with brambles and nettles.

  My curiosity satisfied, I was about to return it to the sack when the stitched lids over the remaining eye twitched. Immediately I heard a deep groan. The sound did not emanate from the head, but from the floor beneath the chair. That was odd – could it be that the head was still conscious? And perhaps the essence of the god was not just confined to its head? In some entities consciousness can be diffuse and not merely trapped within the flesh.

  The mouth was being forced open by the nettles and brambles, so I began to tug them out, dropping them onto the floor beneath the chair. I then saw further evidence of violence: the teeth had been smashed; only yellow stumps remained. As I tugged out the last of the bramble twigs, there was another groan. This time it came from the mouth, not the floor.

  The jaw began to move and the lips to tremble. At first all that came out was a sigh and a croak, but then the head spoke clearly and eloquently.

  ‘I forgive you for what you did to my servants. It was understandable as they were interlopers in your city. But do as I say now and I will reward you beyond your wildest dreams. Disobey me and I will inflict upon you an eternity of pain!’

  I took a deep breath to calm myself and took stock of the situation before replying. Perhaps the witch had been correct and I had been foolish to open the sack and subject myself to unnecessary risk. She was certainly right about my curiosity, though. It was part of what I was. Sometimes danger had to be faced in order to gain knowledge. I knew I must be bold and face down this maimed god.

  ‘You are in no position to reward anyone,’ I told the head. ‘I have been informed that you were once a powerful god but are now helpless. It must be difficult for one so high and mighty to have been brought so low.’

  Then, before the mutilated god could bother me further with its threats, I thrust the nettles and brambles back into the mouth and returned the head to the sack.

  Once again I visited District Yaksa Central, Level Thirteen, cell forty-two.

  I made myself very small and slithered under the dungeon door. I looked up and met the malevolent gaze of the human witch, then quickly grew until we were looking at each other eye to eye.

  ‘Did you retrieve my property?’ she asked coldly.

  ‘I have the leather sack with the severed head of your god,’ I told her. ‘It is back in my quarters. Additionally, I know the location of your blades and the star-stone, but you’ll have to manage without them. They are in the most secure place in the city. But these’ – I placed two of my own blades on the floor before her – ‘may serve you just as well.’

  ‘Do we have a trade?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, it is a trade. You have my word.’

  Thus the bargain was struck and I was pleased. Fighting alongside the witch, I would have a real chance against the Haggenbrood. But there were obstacles yet to be overcome. Could she really complete her escape and make her way safely to my quarters?

  ‘Well, mage, I thank you for the loan of the blades, and you have the head – that’s the most important thing. To begin with, all you have to do is ease the tightness of the chain about my neck.’

  ‘I can do more than that.’ And I released her from the chain so that now she was held only by the four silver pins.

  She smiled, showing her pointed teeth. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘The only further thing that I require is a guide to take me to my other possessions. Send me the busybody rat.’

  ‘Put such thoughts from your mind!’ I said angrily. ‘They are in the Plunder Room of the Triumvirate. Any attempt to penetrate that stronghold will result in your certain death.’

  ‘The “Triumvirate” – that sounds very grand. What is it?’

  ‘It is the ruling body of Valkarky, composed of the three most powerful High Mages in the city.’

  ‘No doubt replacements will be found if anything untoward were to happen to them. I would hate to see such a fine city withou
t proper governance,’ she said, her voice filled with sarcasm. ‘Send me the little rat! Will you do it? Then I will stand by your side in the arena. Go now! It would be wise to be well clear of this dungeon before I escape.’

  Filled with anger at her presumption, I made myself small and left the cell.

  Once back in my quarters, I seethed with anger at her foolishness. But as the trial approached, I found myself growing more desperate. So I summoned Hom and ordered him to send one of his rat-selves to guide the witch.

  No doubt it was futile. I did not see how she could even free herself from the silver pins, let alone storm the Plunder Room.

  I blew myself up to my favourite fighting size, which was a head taller than Nessa, and made my preparations. First I brushed my long thick black overcoat – something I would not entrust to a servant – and polished its thirteen bone buttons. The sabre I thrust into my belt; my two favourite newly sharpened blades went into the scabbards on my chest. A third dagger I hid in my coat pocket.

  After about half an hour the homunculus scurried out of his hole and clambered up onto the chair to face me. He seemed somewhat breathless, and his brow was flushed with excitement.

  ‘There is news!’ he exclaimed. ‘The purra escaped and then breached the defences of the Plunder Room. One of the Triumvirate is dead!’

  I looked at Hom in astonishment. How had she managed to do such a thing? ‘Where is the witch now?’ I demanded.

  ‘Gone, master. The murderess fled Valkarky and is heading south. A large band of Oussa has been sent after her with orders to catch her quickly but kill her slowly.’

  I was filled with anger. No doubt she had always planned to make her escape. She had used me. I had been a fool to trust her. And why had she not taken the head of the horned god with her? She had claimed it was important to her. No doubt she had lied about that too.

  It was time to go and wake up Nessa and her sisters. In less than an hour we had to face the teeth and claws of the Haggenbrood.