In the Company of Ogres (12 page)

Authors: Martinez A. Lee

Tags: #English

BOOK: In the Company of Ogres

5.86Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

“Which of you did it?” he asked at the sight of Ned propped in a corner. “Which of you idiots couldn’t wait until the right moment?”

“Don’t look at me,” said Frank.

“I didn’t do it,” replied Regina. “We assumed you had.”

“I had nothing to do with it,” said Gabel.

“If you did, you should just tell us,” said Frank.

Gabel slammed his palms against the desktop. A stack of requisitions toppled to the floor, and sighing, he gathered them up. “I’m telling you, I didn’t kill him.”

The trio exchanged glances of unspoken skepticism. Their alliance had survived thus far because no one had acted without the others’ approval. Now that spotless trust wasn’t quite so spotless, and they found themselves looking at a roomful of assassins. Regina put her hand on her scimitar. Frank clenched his gigantic fists. Gabel sat back down, reaching for a short sword he kept strapped under the desk. And Ned continued to rot in the corner.

“I swear I had nothing to do with it,” said Gabel.

“Neither did I,” said Regina.

“Nor I,” said Frank.

“I guess that settles it then.” But Gabel kept his fingers on the sword.

Frank cracked his knuckles. “I guess so.”

“Agreed.” Regina lowered her arms from her weapon, but her fellow officers knew she could draw it in a flash.

“It must’ve been an accident,” said Frank. “A real accident.”

“Poor timing for one,” said Gabel, “and hardly believable. When the head office hears of this...”

“Why should they?” asked Regina. “He’s Never Dead Ned. Shouldn’t he come back to life?”

Frank exhaled with relief. “I’d nearly forgotten about that. I guess that’s a lucky break.”

Gabel nodded to the corpse. “Even a cat has only nine lives. Still, let’s assume he’ll return. I guess we should just put him back in his room until then.”

“I’ll do it.” Regina hoisted the body across her back, and before either man could disagree (although neither had any intention) she was out of the room.

“Is it just me, or is she acting strange?” asked Gabel.

Frank didn’t reply. He studied the orc with narrowed eyes.

Gabel met the ogre’s stare. “For the last time, I didn’t kill him.”

Frank shrugged. “If you say so.”

Regina laid Ned in his bed. She tucked his swollen tongue back into his mouth as far as it would go, closed his eye, and pulled his blanket to his chin. Then she stood by his bed for a short while and studied his bloated features. She sneered, but it was a halfhearted attempt to remind herself that this dead man before her was beneath her contempt.

She didn’t understand this. Outside of an odd talent for resurrection, Ned wasn’t anything special. As far as she could tell, he wasn’t even much of a soldier. Yes, he was handsome in a scarred, disfigured way only an Amazon might appreciate, but that hardly seemed enough to warrant her reaction.

She hoped he would just stay dead this time and rid her of the problem.

The door opened, and Miriam stepped inside. “Oh, I’m sorry, ma’am. I just came in to see how the commander was doing?”

Regina stepped aside to allow Miriam to view the corpse.

“Still dead?” asked the siren.

“Still dead.”

Miriam went to the bedside. Neither woman said anything for some time, lost in their own private thoughts.

“How long do you think it’ll take for him to recover?” asked Miriam.

“It only took a few hours last time,” observed Regina.

“I guess I’ll wait then.” Miriam sat on the end of the bed.

“You’ll wait?”

“I’d like to be here when he wakes up.”

“You like him?” Regina’s already rigid posture stiffened. Her brow creased in a hard glare. “You like him?”

The three fins atop Miriam’s head raised and flattened. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Why?”

“I don’t really know.” She reached under the blanket and took his hand. “You know how soldiers are, ma’am. They’re all bluster, always trying to impress each other with how drunk they can get or how long they can keep a badger down their trousers. But Ned doesn’t put on a show. He’s just himself. It’s hard to find a guy like that. Especially around here.”

Regina worked her way quietly behind the siren. The Amazon silently drew her dagger.

“It’s not like he’s much to look at, I know,” continued Miriam, oblivious. “And he isn’t great in bed either. Although he was pretty drunk. But I like him. I wouldn’t expect you to understand, ma’am.”

Regina, poised to slit Miriam’s throat, hesitated. She had no problem killing when it suited her purposes, but there was only one reason to slay Miriam. And that reason, absurd as it seemed, lay decomposing on that bed. To kill her rival would be admitting she had a rival. She wasn’t ready for that.

Miriam glanced backward at Regina, who was now picking her fingernails with the dagger.

“Sometimes I wish I were an Amazon,” said the siren. “It must make life so much easier.”

Regina forced a smile. The hostility within her eyes was not lost on Miriam, but as Regina’s eyes were always full of seething fury, the siren had no reason to suspect some of that fire was directed at her.

“I’ll wait with you.” Regina plopped down into a chair. “Just to keep you company for a while.”

Miriam put a tender hand to Ned’s cheek and smoothed his hair.

Regina, caressing her long, sharp dagger, locked her stare onto Miriam’s throat.

Ten

JUST BEFORE DUSK, a demon entered the citadel. No one bothered to stop him. There were few sentries, and only a tiny percentage of these were alert enough to have observed the demon if he hadn’t been wearing his cloak of seclusion. And of these, even a tinier portion would’ve cared. But the demon was not one to take chances. He wore his magical cloak, though the garment was worn and stained. Only the seamstresses of the damned might repair the cloak’s frayed edges, and only the River of Blood could wash out the blotches. It’d been centuries since the demon had been to the underworld, and if he had his way, it would be many centuries more. Even demons hated Hell. Ice demons in particular found the sweltering temperatures disagreeable. So he tolerated the loose threads, the huge blot of a wine stain smudged down its front. It seemed foolish to worry about a stain on an invisible enchanted cloak.

He strode across the cobblestones. He stopped by the well and removed a pendulum from his sleeve. He held it by its silver chain, and the pendulum pulled very slightly in one direction. Beneath his shadowy hood, the demon smiled. It wasn’t much of a reaction, but it was stronger than there’d ever been before. He was very close.

“Hey, what’s this?” asked a passing goblin.

“Looks like footprints,” replied an ogre.

“Looks like they’re made of ice.”

The cloak’s magic, like its stitching, was ragged and worn. Should an observer notice a trace of his passing and care enough to follow up on the clue, they might become aware of him.

“Hey, what’s all this then?” asked the goblin suddenly. “Who’re you?”

“No one.” The demon turned to face them. “I am no one.” His long, bony fingers tensed like a spider preparing to jump. Black icicle daggers, sharp enough to slice through tempered steel, materialized in his hands.

The goblin glanced at the ogre, who took a pull of wine.

“All right then,” said the drunken ogre, “see you around.”

They sauntered away. The demon was as coldly calculating as one might expect, and he weighed the appearance of two corpses against the chances these two would report his appearance to anyone who might care. He tossed his daggers into the well and continued on his way.

Elmer the treefolk stared into Ace’s beady goblin eyes. No quarter would be given. No mercy would be offered in this clash of wills.

“Got any threes?” asked Elmer.

“Sorry, bud.” Ace grinned. “Go fish.”

Grumbling, Elmer drew a card and rearranged his hand, careful to avoid brushing against Sally the salamander’s hot scales. The oracle Owens rounded out the quartet.

“I don’t see why we have to play this stupid game,” complained Elmer.

“We can always play War,” suggested Owens. “That’s a good game.”

“Forget it,” said Ace. “I lost half a month’s wages last time we played that.”

“I was thinking a more sophisticated game,” said Elmer, puffing on his cigarette.

“Old Maid?” asked Ace.

“Crazy Eights?” proposed Sally.

“How about Super War?” said Owens.

“What’s—” asked Elmer.

“It’s like War,” interrupted Owens, “but you slam the cards on the table a lot harder.”

Elmer scowled, but the blind man was unaware. “Your turn, Sally.”

The salamander, an unrevealing shade of white, sorted clumsily through her hand. It wasn’t easy. Her fingers were thick and awkward, and the fireproof mittens necessary for her to avoid singeing the cards didn’t help. While she considered her next move, she idly said, “I heard the commander is dead again.”

Elmer puffed on his cigarette. “Guy’s an idiot, just like the rest of the imbeciles the head office sends down.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” said Ace. “He didn’t seem like such a bad guy.”

Sally fruitlessly asked for sixes and wound up drawing a card. “Regardless, we’re not exactly rid of him. He is immortal.”

“How do you think he does that?” asked Ace. As a goblin, he couldn’t help but be curious. His race didn’t fear death, but they would’ve preferred to avoid it, even if they rarely possessed the common sense to do so. But the benefit of immortality was getting to cheat death without having to worry about all that commonsense rubbish.

“Who cares?” Elmer grunted. “It’s just a gods damned parlor trick, is what it is. Doesn’t amount to much.”

“I don’t know about that,” disagreed Owens. “Imagine an army of such men and what they might accomplish.”

Elmer laughed. His leaves shook noisily. “Are you serious? He’s been here less than a week, and he’s died twice already. As a rule, humans are worthless, and immortal or not, that’s not going to change. Sooner we’re rid of him, the better.”

“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” said Sally. “The fates seem to agree with you.”

They all chuckled. Everyone in the citadel had their suspicions about the “accidental” deaths plaguing their commanders. No one really cared, but there was etiquette about saying anything outright.

“Though the fates seem a trifle impatient,” added Sally. “It’s not like them to be so sloppy.”

“I think this time it might not have to do with the fates,” said Ace. “Lewis and Martin said the lieutenant seemed surprised by Ned’s corpse. Got any fives, Elmer?”

The treefolk handed over a pair of cards. “You’re suggesting this guy died twice by accident? Genuine accident?”

“Uh-huh.” Ace grabbed a handful of unshelled peanuts in the center of the table and crabbed them in his mouth. His cheeks bulged, and as he spoke, shells spewed through the air. “If you ask me, they weren’t accidents. I think—”

“It’s an interesting theory,” interrupted Owens.

Ace continued, “I think he wants to die.”

“But why—” asked Sally.

“What sane person wants to be immortal?” replied Owens.

“Stop doing that,” said Elmer.

“Sorry,” apologized Owens.

“I think Never Dead Ned is just a clumsy oaf,” said Elmer. “That’s what I think. But if he wants to die, you’d think even an idiot could figure out how to do it. It’s your turn, Owens.”

“I know.” Owens sorted through his cards, holding them before his sightless, white eyes.

“I bet if you chopped him up into a thousand pieces he wouldn’t come back,” said Elmer.

“Maybe. But what if he did?” Ace had yet to finish off his last handful of peanuts when he shoveled another into his mouth. He said something, but it was nothing but shells and spit.

Elmer leaned back in his chair. He had a hard time getting comfortable in human chairs. They never took into account the knots on his back. “Or fire. Fire pretty much kills everything.”

Sally snorted. A small fireball burst from her left nostril. “Not everything.”

“Most everything,” corrected Elmer, as he blew out one of his smoldering leaves. “It’s your turn, Owens.”

“I know.”

“Just ask for something already,” said Elmer.

“Give me a minute, will you?” Owens pulled his cards close to his chest.

“Do you even know what you need?” Elmer snuffed out his cigarette and had Sally light another for him.

“I see the future. Of course I do.”