Infernal, page 9
‘Hey friend,’ said a male voice, ‘you all right there?’
I lifted my head slowly in case the smell and sound came crashing back. They seemed to have abated though, and I squinted up at the man who was standing next to me.
‘Yes.’
‘New to the city, eh?’
‘Yes.’
‘Chatty too, hey friend?’ He squatted down next to me. ‘Listen, I know what it’s like. So why don’t you let me help you? Tell me where you need to go and I’ll help you find your way.’
I didn’t want to risk tasting his scent, not now that I had just managed to find some sort of equilibrium in my senses. The offer sounded reasonable, and it wasn’t as if I had an alternative plan. I nodded my agreement and slowly stood up, catching myself against the wall as an unexpected wave of dizziness washed over me.
‘Easy there,’ my new friend said, offering me a steadying hand. It was a nice gesture but I doubted whether he or the two men standing behind him would have been able to catch me if I had fallen. ‘They grow them big where you come from, eh?’
‘Yes. From the islands in the south.’ I couldn’t quite remember what the Deacon had said. It felt like a long time ago.
‘Sure, sure.’ He pointed further down the roadway I had been sitting on. ‘Come on, let’s go this way. It’s quieter than those nasty, busy streets.’
It was quieter, but it still reeked of spoiled food and human scat, and my discomfort must have shown because my guide patted me on the shoulder and said, ‘Don’t worry, we’re almost there.’
I turned to look at him, and even though I still felt a bit delicate I now paid more attention to what I saw. I would be the first to admit that my experience with men was at best limited, my broken memories notwithstanding. However, such experience as I had was mostly of the sort where harm or theft was intended, and with my brain now actually working a bit better it didn’t take much to see that my ever-so-friendly guide and his friends would fit into either category.
‘Ah,’ he said, stepping in front of me. ‘You begin to understand.’
I looked over my shoulder and was more disappointed than surprised to see that his friends now sported a club and a knife between them. The guide had produced a weapon too, a thin-bladed knife that I quite liked the look of.
‘Hand over the purse, big man,’ he said, holding the knife steady, ready to lunge at me.
I took a steadying breath as the beast swelled in response to the prospect of violence.
The guide tilted his blade and shook his head. ‘It’s not worth it, friend. No one’s going to care about another foreigner, and even if they did, we’ll be on a northbound coach by then. Hand it over.’
Given how little I actually had I did consider doing just that, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. It was the principle more than anything else.
‘No,’ I said.
‘Have it your way,’ said the guide, and gave the man standing behind me a helpful nod. I stepped backwards into the arc of the club, spoiling the blow and sending the attacker crashing to his back. His companion with the knife was slow to react and might as well have told me where and when he was going to try to stab me. I caught his forearm, bent it back on itself and pulled him forward so that his face met my rising knee as he fell. I heard and felt the snap of bone as the impact detached and drove his lower jaw into his neck.
The guide was staring at me through all of this, his sharp knife and cool arrogance apparently forgotten. He sprinted away when I took a step towards him, which was gratifying, but also frustrating. I had really liked his knife.
I snatched the club off the floor and backhanded it across the first man’s head before he could run away as well, then helped myself to their purses. They wouldn’t be needing the coin, and I was still out of pocket after paying for the wine and bread outside the gates. Aside from the boon of my replenished hoard, the scuffle had also proved enough of a distraction that my head felt clearer than it had since I had passed through the gates. The stench was still there, but it no longer felt like I was drowning in it.
I left their bodies to the scavengers and made my way further down the narrow lane, which eventually emptied onto a wider road. It too was thronged with people trying to sell all manner of things, from shoes and hats to carved furniture. Despite their desperate pleas and the seemingly endless stream of people shuffling past, they didn’t seem to be doing much trade. I joined the flow of people moving deeper into the city, stopping occasionally to peer at interesting stalls. I didn’t buy anything, despite the vendors’ best efforts, although a few cunningly crafted items of jewellery did tempt me. The road led to another square, and although this one was smaller than that by the city gates, it was the point where four roads met and was just as busy.
I kept to the edge of the crowd, but the sound of running water drew me towards a wondrous sight. In the centre of a round pool bordered by smooth stone rose a life-sized bronze sculpture of a knight upon a rearing horse. The workmanship on that alone was worth pausing for, never mind the water spraying from the fat children with trumpets carved into the base. These streams jetted out without pause, creating fine, glittering curtains of mist and rainbows that drifted across the water, yet the pond did not overflow. I walked around it a few times, admiring it from every angle. I had not seen anything like it, and it seemed bizarre that I seemed to be the only one even paying attention to it. But then creating something so majestic, then ignoring it entirely, struck some part of me as a tragically human thing to do.
There was an inscription at the rear of statue, but the scratchings were meaningless to me. I tried to ask a few passers-by, but they either ignored me entirely or flinched away. Eventually I snagged the sleeve of a plump, well-dressed man. He too stiffened but I let go as soon as he slowed.
‘Apologies, friend,’ I said, offering my best smile. ‘But what does the inscription say?’ I pointed to the horse’s rear.
For a moment it seemed that he would simply bustle off, but he relented. ‘I can’t read it from here,’ he said, brushing the sleeve I had grabbed. ‘However, the statue is of Henkman the Vanquisher, the first paladin.’
At the mention of that name, the beast coiled inside me shifted with sudden interest. I felt the heat of its awareness press against the back of my eyes, making blooms of light dance across my vision. I must have appeared quite ill, for when my vision cleared, the plump but helpful man was hurrying across the square with some cloth pressed to his mouth, staring at me as he shuffled off with what speed he could muster. I walked to the front of the statue and stared into Henkman’s face, frozen for ever in a silent shout no one would hear, seeking any trace of familiarity in the face or the lines of his body, but nothing had changed. I had another name now though, another piece of the puzzle. What did a self-styled dark wizard and a dead paladin have to do with me?
‘Navar Louw. Henkman.’ I repeated their names, trying different pronunciations and accents, but they were just words now.
Come on, tell me something useful, I silently entreated the thing inside me, which had lapsed back into its dormant state and remained stubbornly useless. If I, or it, couldn’t provide any useful answers I would simply need to find someone who could, which meant that my original plan to find a sage remained brilliantly insightful. But first I needed food and somewhere to sleep. I sort of missed having Crow about; for all of his deficiencies, he had been a useful source of random knowledge and information. I approached one of the nearby vendors, who was busily packing away the last of the trinkets he’d been attempting to sell.
‘Do you know of a fox and hare?’ I asked. He didn’t respond at first, other than to stare at me. ‘I believe it is somewhere, rather than a thing,’ I added helpfully, unveiling another of my friendly smiles, although it didn’t seem to encourage him much. I closed my mouth and hastily tested my teeth with my tongue, but they were still the square human kind.
‘Well, umm, what was it again?’
‘A fox and hare.’
‘Ah,’ he said, still staring at me. ‘Up that way. It’s on a corner.’ He gestured off past the fountain. ‘I’d go elsewhere though.’
‘Why? It was recommended.’
‘Look, I’m just being friendly here, but the owner doesn’t care much for foreigners. Whoever recommended it to you either doesn’t know the place or doesn’t like you much.’
‘So there would be trouble if I went there?’
‘Yes. You’re better off heading upwards, closer to the palace. It’ll cost more, mind, but you’ll be glad of it.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, and left him to pack his wares as I wandered back to the fountain. I found the sound of the water quite soothing, and once the worst of the frustration had abated I made my way to the Fox and Hare, more out of curiosity than anything else. It was a large, gaudily painted building with a helpful but poorly rendered painting of a fox and a wretched-looking hare on a board next to the entrance.
I stepped inside and tried not to gag on the thick, stale fug that hung in the air in defiance of any breeze that managed to force its way through the narrow windows. That alone was enough to convince me that this was not somewhere I would choose to linger, even without considering the damp straw underfoot and the scores of men who sat with pipes far grander than Crow’s in their wet mouths, sending clouds of smoke to cling to the stained rafters.
I turned my back to the inn and rejoined the press of people in the street outside. I would follow the vendor’s advice and head towards the upper city.
Chapter 9
The road outside the inn was crowded with men and women carrying large bundles or pulling hand carts and I kept to the side as much as I could. The buildings here rose higher than others I had seen, with wooden constructions sprouting from the roofs of the stone levels below in a variety of fashions, perhaps in response to the narrowing roadway. I had lost count of the number of carts that had scraped my legs, and when an argument stalled the flow of humanity and began to form a tight mob around me, I knew I had to get away from them. Fortunately I was close enough to the edge that it took little effort to make my way down the nearest lane. It snaked around the back of several buildings and was narrow enough that I had to twist sideways now and then to avoid mounds of detritus that had been left in it. Overhead the buildings leaned together as if whispering to each other, either by poor workmanship or design, creating patches of shadow that were as deep as the night even though the sun still sailed through the sky. It felt oppressive; the air was thick enough that I felt close to suffocating and it stank like nothing natural that I had ever smelled before. No matter how many times it branched off into other even narrower paths and alleys, that smell remained. The foulest odours of the city seemed to have seeped into those narrow spaces, thickening among them until it became a single, choking miasma that would surely have made a fly vomit. And yet, more humans lived here among this stench, peering at me with eyes that were bright against their stained skin. Few of these wretches were dressed, and from the way their bones pressed at their skin I surmised that winter would take any who survived that long. They were agile though, squeezing themselves into crevices and clambering high up the sides of the buildings like spiders whenever I drew too close.
It was hard to tell how long I had meandered through those dank alleyways. The shadows were hard to distinguish from the general gloom and the sun was lost behind the creaking height of the buildings. It was only when I began recognising my own scent trail that I realised I was most likely lost, something that I suspect the bedraggled inhabitants of this pit had known for far longer than I had. They were watching me from the ends of exposed beams and various other perches, all but invisible in the murk. I stopped and stared up at a small group of them but, even with the advantage of my blood vision, it was hard to tell whether they were adults or children.
‘Hello,’ I ventured. They looked at each other and, having wordlessly come to a decision, one of the marginally taller ones descended, dropping down to the street with an enviable dexterity.
‘Hello,’ he replied in a quiet voice. ‘You lost.’
It sounded like a statement rather than a question, and I simply nodded my agreement.
He smiled, and the breath that wafted between the remains of his teeth almost made me take a step back. ‘Bad place.’
As he spoke, his fingers were curling around the handle of a small knife that hung from a thong around his neck. It seemed that they were human after all, but I would be carrying this stench with me for days already and the last thing I wanted was to have their blood all over me as well. I whispered to my sorcery, moulding it into a shape not far from that which I’d used to light Crow’s pipe and a small ball of fire burst into being above my outstretched hand, its flame steady and unwavering. My control was improving, an achievement lost on the grubby creatures around me, who hissed and clutched at their eyes. Their speaker fared slightly worse than the others by virtue of being the closest and the one that the light was directed at. He staggered back, his knife forgotten, and I took the opportunity to draw one of my own and place the tip under his chin with just enough tension to make him rise to his toes.
‘No hurt me, mister please!’ he squawked. I dimmed the intensity of the compressed flame, but didn’t move the knife.
‘I don’t want to hurt you,’ I lied. ‘I just want to find my way out of here and a good place to eat and to rest.’
‘I show you, magic man. Easy quick.’
I doubted that this scabrous creature would pass up the opportunity to stab his own father if it meant some coin in his pocket, assuming that the rags he wore had pockets. I let him feel the sting of the point under his chin for a few heartbeats longer, then withdrew the knife.
‘If you run, I will burn you,’ I said, making the fireball bob up and down. The reassuring scent of his fear now mingled with the more mundane odours of his poor diet and extinct hygiene, and I knew that I had him. I rummaged in my purse and brought out a few of the coins I’d taken from the bodies of my most recent attackers. They were tarnished and quite ugly, but they made the man’s eyes all but gleam with hunger.
‘If you help me, you get these. Do we have an agreement?’
‘Yes, deal.’ Then he spat on his hand and thrust it at me. I stared at the wetness with a combination of horror and disgust, the fireball brightening in response and he swiftly lowered his hand.
‘Deal deal. You follow me.’
I did just that. He picked his way through the now midnight-black alley with confidence, pulling aside cunningly laid timbers that had concealed other exits. He only looked at me once over his shoulder, and whatever he saw or heard made him bark out something that I didn’t need to understand to know it was a curse of some sort. His pace picked up after that but, with his scent now known to me and my blood vision woken, I had no problem in keeping up with him. When we unexpectedly emerged onto a normal, wider street, the sudden rush of moving, untainted air was almost intoxicating after the foulness of the alleyways. I had no idea where we were though, and said as much. My pet wretch grinned in the darkness and pointed along the road.
‘You want rest, this is best place. Many inns and houses. Good food.’
‘Where are the city gates from here?’
He pointed to the side and made a strange waggling motion with his hand. I copied the motion, which made him cluck his tongue loudly.
‘Steps. You must go down to lower city.’
I was impressed by how far we had actually come. For all of the stench and discomfort, I was almost exactly where I wanted to be. I was pleased that I hadn’t killed him.
‘What is your name?’
‘Jovar.’
I handed him the coins I had promised. ‘Thank you, Jovar.’
The coins vanished faster than a viper’s tongue. ‘Good, magic man. We see you again.’ He gave a short wave, then vanished back into the alleyway.
‘I don’t think so,’ I said to the darkness, tempting Fate’s sense of humour. I lingered where I was while my senses began recovering from the abuse I had just subjected them to. As I waited, a party of a dozen young males came walking along, laughing and shouting among each other, paying little or no attention to anything or anyone around them. I stepped out behind them as they passed, enjoying the waft of soft spices and oils that followed them. I was conscious of the various new stains that my diversion through the alleyways had cost me, and so was pleased that the group was loud enough to draw any attention away from me. When they bustled into one of the inns a bit further along, I decided to follow them in. Their arrival was met with a round of cheers, which was strange but suited my purposes well. The room within was crowded, and just as thick with smoke as the Fox and Hare had been, although it lacked the riper undertones of bodily waste and soured straw. Here and there ornate bronze lanterns were suspended from chains, the warm glow of their light and the dancing shadows they threw making the murals on the walls shift and glitter as if possessed of a life of their own. It was quite a captivating spectacle and kept my attention for too long, causing me to bump into someone. Since my usual luck was reasserting itself, he was large and surly.
‘Who do you think you are?’ he snapped at me and lifted my tunic thing in his pinched fingers. ‘You stinking peasant. Are you black or simply filthy? Who let you in?’
His loud voice had drawn the attention of the young males I had followed in. They looked at each other, then burst out laughing.
