by G R Jordan
“Come on,” said Calandra, “every second we waste could be fatal to Nefol.”
Calandra raced off ahead on the path, followed by Havers with Nefol over his shoulder. Kirkgordon slung Austerley over his back again with a curse and trudged past the bewildered militia. He gave a simple salute as he passed the captain.
“No hard feelings, guys. They were only thumpers.” The look from the captain indicated that “thumpers” weren’t that much of a soft touch.
Austerley came round some ten minutes later and Kirkgordon set him down then matched his pace. Havers was up ahead, out of earshot, and Calandra kept appearing in the distance signalling the all clear. Time to pick the brains of my expert, thought Kirkgordon.
“Indy, did you notice something back there?”
“What do you mean?”
“The guns, did you notice the guns?”
“Did I notice the guns? Of course I noticed the guns. Did you miss the screaming nightmare I turned into?”
“No. I meant the type. Did you see the type of gun, Indy?”
“I don’t look too closely. You know I don’t get on with them since the incident at the grave.”
No, you don’t, thought Kirkgordon. “They were Russian, Indy. That seem a bit of a coincidence?”
“Never mind that. I’ve been over to a few places this side and I have never seen a gun. Most of the weapons here are blades or blunt force. Rarely do you get our things over here. After all, there’s a fair few creatures they won’t affect.”
“And the militia were human too.”
“Not all, Churchy.”
Kirkgordon raised his eyebrows. “Not all?”
“No. I saw a few werewolves there, one vampire certainly, though not much of a specimen, and definitely a few early stage ghouls. But I think the captain was human. In fact, when he spoke, did you not hear his accent?”
“You got an accent out of that language, Indy?”
“Oh yes,” nodded Austerley vehemently. “Not just an accent, but one I can place, too. In fairness to you, it was faint, and when it comes to languages you are a bit thick.”
“Never mind that. Where was it from?”
“Moscow. Definitely Moscow and probably to the north of the city. So we are on the right lines to find Farthington.”
“Forgive me, Indy, but even Mr Thick here got that one. Did you notice something else?” Kirkgordon raised his eyebrows and stopped walking.
“He’s got connections here. He has somehow tapped into the authorities. Selling guns to them. And it must have been a hell of a story to flog them that rubbish. Like I said, it wouldn’t work on most creatures here.”
“And so, when we get to the city…”
“He’ll have contacts in high places. We’ll be watched. Even targeted.”
Kirkgordon nodded. “Look, Indy, you’re an awkward bastard but I’ll tell you now that if you and I don’t stick together in this one we won’t be coming back. Cally’s got her hands full with Nefol and I’m going to let her stay with the girl and keep her safe. That means there’s only you, me and Havers to cover each other, and I don’t trust him one bit.”
“He only has eyes on Farthington. I’d like to see that dragon in pieces too, Churchy, but I’m not dumb enough to hunt him down. If it wasn’t for your Alana being here I’d not be around. I have enough problems with this damn black foot.” Austerley saw Kirkgordon’s lips begin to move. “And before you start, I know it was my own fault.”
“No, that isn’t what I was going to say.” Kirkgordon caught the surprise in Austerley’s face. “There’s something I don’t understand about your foot. When the frog-men went past it went crazy. But with the furballs and the militia, nothing. How does that work?”
“I’ve been thinking about that too. It never reacted to Farthington either, back in Dillingham. I think it is because it has a certain kind of darkness.”
“But if it reacted to the frog-men then that means…”
“Elder, Churchy. God help me, I think it’s Elder.” Both men walked along in silence, the horror of the situation bringing back that dreaded time on the island. Kirkgordon remembered seeing the dark wings and red eyes rising from the sea. A thought struck him.
“Indy, these frog-men we saw, how common are they to this place?”
“From the manuscripts I’ve read, and do remember they are from a much older time, I would say they are not indigenous.”
“So they are migrants?”
“At some point. That would be a reasonable assumption,” agreed Austerley.
“And if Farthington was working for Dagon and he has his camp around here then you would expect…”
“E-O-D! Dammit, Churchy, they’ll be here too. That’s why we saw frog-men.”
“But they won’t be partners anymore. Farthington failed Dagon, killed lots of his followers, took away his established base up in Scotland. This could be useful, Indy. We might not be the only ones looking for Farthington.” Kirkgordon chuckled to himself before seeing that Austerley’s face had gone white. “What’s the matter?”
“Looking for Farthington. He’ll be looking for Farthington. Hell, Churchy, who sent him back, who cast him out? Who was the one who went toe-to-toe and sent that thing back to the depths? Me. Bloody me. If he wants Farthington then he’ll damn well want me ten times more. And what’s more, I have a beacon attached that’s gonna send him a signal!”
“That’s a point. Is there any way to remove the darkness from it?”
“Not that I know of.”
“And Havers’ lopping-it-off idea is a non-starter?”
“Of course it’s a non-starter. It’s my bloody foot.”
“But you said you needed rid of it otherwise you’d end up meeting Dagon again.” Kirkgordon saw Austerley become more agitated, looking off into the undergrowth of the forest. “Are you saying chopping it off wouldn’t work?”
“Work? It’s not on the cards, Churchy, understand? I lost it once before and I’m not going through that pain again. I’ll sort it out. Maybe up here I’ll find someone who can move these things on.”
“I hope so. Farthington’s enough to have on our plate without Dagon and his frog chorus.”
The group continued along the path until tree cover broke without warning and they were facing an enormous gatehouse. On top of it were militia in the same outfits the group on the path had worn. Kirkgordon made a quick count; they numbered at least thirty-five.
There was a large portcullis hovering halfway up the open doorway of the gatehouse and a small team of militia accompanying a man in colourful medieval garb, who appeared to be talking to everyone who was trying to enter the city.
“I’ll sort this, Mr Kirkgordon,” said Havers, “seeing as I’m quite good with the local lingo.”
Kirkgordon nodded but whispered to Austerley, “Go with him, Indy, I don’t trust him.”
“I’ve never trusted him,” said Austerley and followed Havers towards the man in the bright clothing.
Kirkgordon felt useless, once again having to wait for the exchange to finish before he could get a translation of what had passed. Austerley informed him that Havers had managed to obtain a thirty-eight hour pass, after which time they would have to vacate the city or spend a night in the cells. The pass was given only because of the extreme need of Nefol. Pleased that they had obtained a much better result than having to attack an entire city’s militia, Kirkgordon let Austerley hobble forward to look around the city.
For all his panic about encountering Farthington or Dagon, Kirkgordon noticed that Austerley was once again in his element. This was somewhere ordinary people didn’t see and no doubt there were many wondrous and probably terrible sights lurking beneath its surface. But this was no school outing, and Kirkgordon asked Havers and Austerley to look for some accommodation.
Initially the streets were like a shanty town, with many houses made of basic timber or sheet metal, usually taken from something intended for another purpose entirely
. Faces peered out from the houses, displaying a variety of eyes, from large bulbous ones that reminded Kirkgordon of the frog-men to others that were mere slits. Occasionally Austerley would veer towards these eyes out of curiosity, but each time Kirkgordon would rein him back in.
Soon the buildings became stout, strong timber constructions with full windows that were draped inside with curtains, and Kirkgordon noticed that the people – no, life forms – that occupied the street were better dressed. On passing a sign with a drawing of a cloaked individual with a rather bloody foot, Austerley insisted to Havers that they would not be going in.
“What’s up with you, Indy?” asked Calandra.
“The one-legged vampire! As if.”
“What do you mean, Indy?” asked Kirkgordon.
“Havers wants me to go into the one-legged vampire pub. Bloody comedian.”
“It’s only a pub, Indy. I’m sure there’s not…”
“No,” insisted Austerley. “Now, can we get on?”
After a short walk, another pub appeared. At least, from the movements of those exiting the establishment, it appeared to be a pub. Havers went inside briefly with Austerley before returning and calling the rest of the group in.
“There are rooms upstairs, Mr Kirkgordon, of which I have acquired three. One for the ladies which adjoins a room that should suit Mr Austerley and yourself. And there is one across the hall which will suit myself, I think.”
“Good. Now take Calandra and find us a healer,” ordered Kirkgordon.
“No, Mr Kirkgordon.”
“No, Havers, you can get the name of the creatures and Nefol’s condition from him in this language, and you seem to know enough to cope otherwise. Calandra will make sure you stay on task and not begin to freelance in Farthington’s direction.”
“Very good, Mr Kirkgordon, I see you are beginning to think like me.”
Not so, Havers, thought Kirkgordon, not so. He watched Calandra and Havers leave before taking Nefol upstairs. The rooms were basic but each contained two beds. Kirkgordon laid Nefol down upon one. The girl was breathing and appeared to be in a deep sleep, but earlier attempts to wake her up had failed. There was a pitcher of water in the room, so Kirkgordon poured himself a glass and sat down in a wooden chair near one of the windows. Austerley, seeing the chance to relax, laid down on the second bed and closed his eyes.
Not much to do now but wait, thought Kirkgordon. And for the first time in a while he began to think about Alana and where Farthington could be holding her. First she was in a dungeon and then on a rock face. Then there was a palace and a grave. But everywhere that his dreams took him, Calandra was also there. His eyes drifted from one figure to the next, enjoying the curves despite the peril they represented. He felt himself slipping into a happy stupor as he heard the rhythmic shake of a maraca.
Hang on. A maraca? Kirkgordon’s eyes flicked open. Nefol was lying quite still, but Austerley had his shoes and socks off and next to his ordinary white foot, the ebony appendage was vibrating with such a velocity that the bed was shaking and knocking into a nearby dresser. On the dresser, some small rocks in a bowl – a sort of mineral potpourri – were colliding and causing the maraca sound. But all thoughts of rocks and maracas disappeared from Kirkgordon’s mind as he realized that although Austerley was fast asleep, his black foot was not.
Kilon
It was the latter part of the day, and outside the night had begun to approach. Kirkgordon listened carefully but he could hear only the rattling of the items on the table. Slowly, he edged out of his seat and took up position at the only door of the room. Standing to one side, he took his bow and placed a single arrow on the string. The coloured flashings indicated a normal arrow. He had insisted to Nefol that he bring some when he restocked the quiver before the journey.
A glance at Austerley’s foot showed that it had swollen and was now shaking quite violently. Austerley began to stir, moaning and breathing heavily. Keeping his eye fixed on his partner, Kirkgordon wondered how long Austerley would remain asleep. There were moments when he seemed to be awake, his eyelids opening, but each time he dropped back under. The window’s the only way out if anyone takes the door, thought Kirkgordon. It’s a two-storey drop. Indy will probably break his legs and how I’ll get Nefol away I don’t know.
And then he heard a hopping sound. Tiny little splats on the wooden staircase; they had climbed to the rooms. It sounded like someone playing a game of hopscotch while being determined that no one should find out. But there’s only one splat, thought Kirkgordon, just the one. If I get the element of surprise I can take him, or it, or whatever. The sound drew closer, and finally a gentle splat stopped right outside the door.
Kirkgordon drew the bow, stepping back slightly so that the door could open. Believing the opener would see Austerley in bed and move to attack him, Kirkgordon reckoned he could nail the creature before it could reach Austerley. He certainly didn’t want to fight it in hand-to-hand combat. The frog-men on the island had been very strong and difficult to subdue.
The door swung open easily, gliding to a halt just in time to allow Kirkgordon to maintain his cover. There was a light splatting sound but nothing moved into the room. Kirkgordon held his breath but didn’t panic. Austerley’s foot was now vibrating wildly and Austerley himself was beginning to come to life. The former professor grunted momentarily before sitting up and opening his eyes wide.
“You!” Austerley screamed. Kirkgordon held his ground but tried to twist his head to see if there was a weapon pointing at Austerley. “I can explain,” continued Austerley. “It wasn’t my fault. The manuscript was at fault. A poor copy… bad publication… not my fault.”
Hell, thought Kirkgordon, it’s either Farthington himself or the Dagon roadshow. But that splat sound…
Kirkgordon felt a chill run down his spine and something told him there was danger behind him. He rolled out in front of the doorway then came up on his knees and aimed his bow at the… head, maybe, of the thing that stood there. It stood on a single central leg with a webbed foot at the bottom and was only four feet tall. There were six eyes arranged around the transparent jelly-like head, and arteries and other internal bodily necessities were clearly visible.
“Tell it not to move, Indy, or I’ll split its head in two.”
“Tell it yourself, it speaks damn good English.” An underlying terror could still be heard in Austerley’s voice, but Kirkgordon’s move had given him some confidence.
“Does it have a name?”
“I do indeed,” said the thing, without using any obvious mouth. “‘Kilondoneanghnftlykuifop’ is how I think you would pronounce it, but the Professor and myself always used ‘Kilon’ for short, and I think that will suffice.”
“How are you speaking?” asked Kirkgordon. “Indy, how’s it doing that?”
“Why, the only way I know how. I move the skin in a refined manner thereby causing such fluctuations in the air that the molecules move in a certain way. The said movement is then picked up by your ear. The Professor picked up on it very quickly.”
“Indy, how do you know this creature and is it safe?”
“I met it back in our world, Churchy, and I kind of… well I… dropped it and twenty-five of its family into a crevice.”
“I didn’t know you had it in you to pick a fight and win.”
“Well, I was in the process of moving their house by mental teleportation but instead opened up the ground and dropped Kilon and his family together with their house ten miles under the ground. I thought he’d be a bit pissed off, actually.”
“Not at all, my dear Professor, you were doing your best. It did take a while to extricate ourselves from the depths of that hole, but you were doing your best,” said the creature, remaining in the doorway.
“So what’s your purpose in coming here? How did you know Austerley was here?”
“My friend saw you at the outer limits of the city when your friend, the lady with the stick, began to argue with the m
ilitia and the moustached man shot them. He was very quick on the trigger and accurate not to kill any of them. Significant but non-lethal hits.”
“And how do I know your intentions with Austerley are good? How do I know you aren’t here to kill him or deliver him up to someone? Why shouldn’t I put you down just to be on the safe side?”
“Because his friend will drop you before you even let that arrow fly.” The voice came from behind Kirkgordon and with it a chill ran up his spine. He felt a cold line across his throat but could see nothing from the corner of either eye. “This one smells fresh enough, Kilon.”
Kirkgordon let the tension on his bow drop off. “Okay, you have the upper hand, so say your piece.”
Kilon hopped into the room, every landing making a quiet splat. The door closed behind him as if by magic and Kirkgordon felt like his mind was catching the last bus to la-la land. At least these are the good guys, he thought.
“There has been some… noise, shall we say, Professor? In the darker streets of the city, there has been talk of the Professor and the Agent coming. And the Archer too, a man looking for his wife but who brings the Angel with him.” Kilon kept his eyes fixed on Austerley while he spoke.
“An Angel. I wouldn’t tell her that, what do you think, Austerley? She might just put those wings to good use.” Kirkgordon tried to chuckle as he spoke but he was too aware of the cold line across his throat.
“Who is talking, Kilon?” asked Austerley.
“They say you are looking for the man-dragon, the one who dines with the Pontiff. The one who brought the guns to our city. Many of the fleshers haven’t forgotten that.”
“Fleshers?” asked Kirkgordon.
“Yes, those who can be harmed by weapons from your world, the non-spiritual, but not in the godly sense. They don’t like these new toys that are bringing servitude to those not of spirit. Something must be done. And I think the Professor will know what to do. A clever man, the Professor, is what I thought. I shall get some help.”
“So Farthington has his feet under the table with the authorities. That’s not good,” stated Kirkgordon. “Alana could be anywhere in this city.”