Dead Stars - Part One (The Emaneska Series) (35 page)

‘Help us with what?’ asked the red-head, putting her hands on her hips.

The man nodded towards the curtain. ‘There’s a man in there they call Fat Forluss, am I right?’

‘Yeah,’ chorused the girls. ‘Though try calling him that to his face.’

‘I couldn’t help but hear you want him to leave?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Well, I can make that happen. For good.’

The red-head narrowed her eyes. ‘You a friend of his?’

‘A long-lost acquaintance,’ Farden smirked.

She looked dubious, but her friend stepped forward. ‘Go on.’

The man lifted a little vial of brown-black liquid from his pocket and handed it to her. ‘I’ve heard that this stuff can clear a room quicker than you can say
skald
. Drip some on him, and he’ll be forced to leave. Make sure he goes out the back door, into the alley.’

‘Why?’

The man turned away. ‘Never you mind about that. If you don’t want him to come back, don’t ask questions. Deal?’ There was a hesitant pause. ‘He won’t be back. I promise.’

The two girls swapped glances. The dark-haired one looked eager. The red-head wasn’t so sure. ‘It’s your fault if Hassfold catches us,’ she wagged a finger.

‘He won’t!’ When she turned back to man, he had gone, leaving nothing but the little vial on the edge of the cupboard. ‘Deal it is,’ she muttered. She lifted the vial to her nose and gingerly cracked it open. She almost wilted under the stench that punched her nostrils. ‘That’ll bloody do it,’ she wheezed, coughing and spluttering.

‘Fine,’ sighed the red-head. ‘I’ll take the drinks, and you put that stuff on him.’

It was a moment’s work to slip the bottles onto a tray. One following the other, the girls pushed the curtain aside and walked back into the room. Forluss turned around to wink at them. ‘There they are,’ he said, beckoning to the dark-haired one once again. She smiled, and went to stand by him, even going as far to put her arm around his thick, sweaty neck. Forluss seemed to like that; his hand began to sneak up the front of her dress. While he was busy, she leant forward and with a quick and deft dab of her hand, she dripped half the vial down Forluss’ back, between his tunic and the coat folded over his chair. The girl had to cover her mouth to keep from retching.

‘My gods,’ she wheezed, quickly making her exit.

‘Oi! Where you goin’?’ Forluss cried, as the red-head swiftly followed suit, covering her nose with her tray. ‘Women!’ he spat.

It didn’t take long for it to hit them.

‘Jötun’s balls! What’s that reek?!’ coughed Dern, being the closest. He got up as quickly as he could and backed away from the table. The others did the same. Unfortunately for them, there were no windows in the little room. Forluss stayed put, confused, beginning to gag.

Isfridder had clamped his sleeve over his mouth. ‘You shat yourself again, Forluss?’ he challenged.

‘You want to watch yer mouth, old man…’ Forluss began, mouth flapping.

‘It’s not any of us!’ yelled one of the men. He looked to be on the verge of vomiting. He left the room in a hurry, along with Dern and the others close in tow. Isfridder got up and gingerly edged around the table, trying to keep as far away from Forluss as possible.

‘By the gods, man, that’s vile!’ he cried.

Forluss had gone a bright shade of crimson. Had he shat himself? He didn’t remember… Gods, it truly was vile. He scrambled awkwardly to his feet and tried to cover his nose with his coat, but it made the smell even worse. In a panic he burst through the curtain, half-ripping it from its rickety pole and making the two girls shriek in the process. They scampered off down the balcony and ran down the steps to find Hassfold.

Forluss was utterly bamboozled. A couple stood by the railing. Was it him? Was it something in the room? He tried to paste an innocent look on his face as he slowly made for the stairs, a confused look on his face. The couple caught one breath of him and immediately began to gag. ‘It’s not me!’ he bellowed, breaking into a stumbling jog. The brimlugger had gone straight to his legs.

Hassfold, the landlord, was standing at the bottom of the stairs. The smell was beginning to spread, and he already had a damp cloth firmly clamped over his nose. He pointed at Forluss. ‘You! Get out!’ he shouted.

Forluss could do nothing but glare as he floundered on the bottom step. The skald’s song was coming to a grinding halt. People were either staring or leaving. A woman had fainted. ‘Don’t you go shoutin’ at me, Hassfold. It ain’t my smell!’

‘Gods, you reek, Forluss! It ain’t anybody else but you! You need to leave!’ Hassfold literally sagged as the man brushed past him.

‘Out the back!’ a female voice shouted, one of the girls no doubt.

‘Yeah, send him out the back!’ shrieked another. ‘There’s people here!’

The crowd soon joined in. Red-faced and fuming, Forluss pushed his way through a set of stiff doors and into a storeroom. The shouts chased him. He found a door and barrelled into it, finding himself in an alleyway, and the cold night rain on his sweat-licked head. The door quickly slammed behind him. Somebody locked it. Forluss scratched his head, bewildered, and began to try to wash his clothes in the rain. Even he had to keep from gagging, and he had smelled things in the torture chamber no man should ever smell.

As he bent for a puddle, a blade slipped under his chin and an iron hand seized him by his hair. Forluss didn’t even dare to gulp. ‘Move, and I’ll gut you,’ uttered a bitter voice. A voice from the grave.

‘Farden,’ the name was a cold whisper on Forluss’ alcohol-swollen tongue. The blade was cold, colder than the rain drumming on their shoulders and the gravel under their boots. The alley was dark, light-starved, like the throat of a yawning monster. Forluss could feel hot breath on his ear.

‘The very same.’

‘But you’re dead…’

‘Then you can call me a ghost.’ The blade tickled the lump forming in Forluss’ throat. The man took a few short breaths, trying to figure out what to do or say. All the while, all he could smell was his reek filling his nose.

‘W… what do you want of me?’ he stammered.

Farden tugged his hair a little harder. ‘I’m not going to lie to you, Forluss, I want your head on a pole, along with the others. In a nice line, I think. You first, then Kint, then that Loffrey fellow, and then Kiltyrin last. It will look nice outside my shack. You remember it, don’t you?’

Forluss nodded, immediately regretting it as the keen blade dug into his neck.

‘Good,’ growled Farden. ‘But on second thoughts, Forluss, you fat lump, perhaps if you did me a favour I might be willing to spare your miserable life…’

Forluss would have dropped to his knees in an instant if it weren’t for the blade. ‘Anything!’ he yelled. Behind every bully was a coward, and Forluss was no different.

‘Keep your voice down!’ Farden hissed.

Forluss clapped his rain and sweat-soaked palms together. ‘Anything, Farden. Anything you ask. Just don’t kill me!’ he wheezed.

‘Good,’ Farden whispered. Further down the alley, somewhere in the darkness, a window closed with a thud. The mage pointed to a nearby puddle with his knife. As the sky rumbled overhead, he kicked out Forluss’ knees and pushed him to the ground. ‘Wash that stink off you first. Then we’ll see what you can do.’

Forluss gibbered to himself as he crawled forward and into the puddle. Had the downpour from the stony sky above not churned the surface of the mud-laced little puddle, Forluss might have spied his true self in its reflection. He dipped his hands into the water, and began to wash.

Behind him, Farden took a length of rope from a pouch on his belt. His revenge was close. He could almost taste its bitter-sweetness in his mouth. Copperish. Metallic. A lot like blood.

Castle Tayn was a shard puncturing the stormy sky. Night had truly fallen on Tayn. The worst of the rumbling storm had died away but the rain had stayed behind to bludgeon its streets and roof-tiles and chimneys and parapets. Everybody but the guards had retreated inside for the evening. Such weather was for fools.

Two figures sloshed up the steep steps towards the castle’s mouth. The rain had made a tiny waterfall of the steps and the going was treacherous. Once or twice, the figure in front stumbled, and was shoved upright by the one behind. Puddles of yellow light lit their way. All the torches had been drowned. Only a precious number of lanterns had been spared to light the way. The rain pounded musically on their little tin roofs, pawing at the candles inside. The two kept climbing.

Before long, they came to the first gate of the castle and were immediately challenged by a trio of guards standing under its wooden roof. Spears were lowered.

‘Who goes there?’ asked one, a captain of the guard by the looks of his fancy armour. ‘State your name.’

‘It’s Forluss, you idiot,’ grunted the first man.

‘And what have you got there, Forluss?’ challenged another guard.

Forluss sighed and yanked the length of ship’s rope tied about his wrist. The man had a cloak on. His hood had been pulled over his face and tied around his neck, like a sack. There was a hole in the hood, through which a wide and fearful eye stared. ‘Trouble-maker,’ Forluss explained. What he didn’t explain was that the ropes were cunningly coiled around a blade, and it hovered inches from his spine. A steel-tip warning.

‘Taking him to the rack, are you?’ chortled the captain.

‘Somethin’ like that,’ nodded Forluss.

‘Make sure you show him a good time,’ he laughed, and clapped the fat man on the shoulder. He was even brazen enough to give Farden a kick on the backside as Forluss dragged him forward. Farden stumbled, almost revealing the blade. It took all of his control not to lash out and bury it in the captain’s neck. Somehow, he managed.
All in good time
.

Like the canals of its town, the castle had swelled with the rain. Dank and dark, the torches did their best to light the place. The ominous sound of dripping joined the echoes of footsteps and voices. Guards slouched against walls, idly watching Forluss drag his prisoner past. Some tapped their spears and chuckled. Some engaged the man in conversation. Nobody thought twice.

As instructed, Forluss led Farden into the upper reaches of the castle. Farden kept his eye pressed against the hole in his hood. Through one set of doors he spied a banquet hall full of dancers and diners. He strained his head to see if the Duke was at any of the tables, but it appeared not.

After a group of people in banquet attire passed, Farden leant forward to whisper in Forluss’ ear. ‘Take me to Kint first, understand?’

Forluss nodded. He led the mage up another spiral staircase and then along a corridor. Farden looked around with his one eye so that he could follow where they were heading. They were in the east wing. His hands were beginning to grow sweaty. The rope loosely looped around his wrists smelled faintly of brine. They kept walking.

‘Are you goin’ to let me live?’

‘If you do what I say,’ Farden lied, keeping him compliant. He could see the drips of sweat from the man’s neck mingling with the raindrops on the collar of his raincoat. He was beginning to wheeze.

‘Forluss!’ A sudden and high-pitched shout halted them in their steps. Farden pressed up against Forluss’ back, making him yelp as the knife dug into the fleshy part of his back. Farden kept his head down and sullen while Forluss turned in the direction of the shouter.

It was Moirin, the Duke’s wife, borne by quick and urgent steps and shoes that tapped a frantic rhythm on the stone floor. ‘Forluss!’ she shouted again, even though she had almost reached them. She ignored the hooded man trailing behind him; Forluss was often seen hauling prisoners around Castle Tayn, taking them to and from his torture rooms, guffawing as the other guards kicked at them. Farden wondered why she was even talking to the man. As far as he knew, she loathed Kint and Forluss almost as much as he did. He stole a glance at her through the hole in his hood. There was a faint hint of disgust there, at the sight and smell of the man, but it was drowned by the expression of worry and panic she wore.
What was the matter?

‘Have you seen Timeon?’ she panted. This made Farden frown.
She never let Timeon out of her sight
.

Words stolen by the fear of the knife in his back, Forluss simply shook his head.

Moirin looked around. ‘Are you sure? Think, man,’ she urged.

‘No, I ain’t,’ muttered Forluss, turning away.

Moirin wrung her hands. ‘Well, have you seen the Duke?’

‘No.’

Exasperated by the useless man, she spared a quick and pitiful glance for the prisoner behind him, and then dashed off in the direction of the banquet hall, skirts flying. Farden watched Moirin go. Tonight was a banquet night, Timeon and Moirin should have been confined to their rooms. Farden pulled a face under his hood; he didn’t have time to wonder. He prodded Forluss again, eliciting a whimper, and they moved off.

It didn’t take them long to arrive at their destination. Forluss led the mage to the end of a carpeted corridor and pointed a chubby finger at a skinny oak door near the window. The rest of the hall was empty. Every other door was shut. The noise of the banquet was a muffled echo. ‘He’s in there,’ he mumbled, pitiful.