Kultus (25 page)

‘Ooh, you are a coarse one!’ The expression on Flense’s face was probably the closest it could ever come to looking offended. ‘Don’t you even want to know why you’re about to die? Are you not at all curious as to who has authorised your death warrant?’

‘Go on then, if it makes you feel better,’ replied Blaklok, his patience running thin.

‘You have provoked the ire of the Lord of the Underworld himself. The Montserrat, master of the Cistern and commander of the Chambers, has sanctioned your demise, Thaddeus Blaklok. Now, I would be happy to listen to any pleas for mercy you might have.’

Blaklok glanced at Quickstep, who gave an almost imperceptible shrug. Before Flense could bore him any further he leapt at the Punctress, who still held the Key of Lunos in one tattooed hand. Blaklok had to hand it to her, she was fast. At his sudden approach, she took a step back, flailing the whip behind her in readiness to strike. The thick studded leather swept through the air, cutting towards Blaklok with lethal velocity, but he managed to raise an arm as it swept towards him. He could feel it sting his flesh as it wrapped around his forearm, but it wasn’t the worst pain he had felt in recent days. As the whip curled around his arm he grasped it, pulling tight and forcing the Punctress closer. His other arm was raised in a fist that smashed into her suddenly surprised face.

Blood and nose rings sprayed across the plaza. The Punctress went down easily, losing her grip on her whip and the Key of Lunos. He could hear the sound of the other Hounds charging in as he reached for the Key, but all that mattered was that he retrieved the artefact – he could worry about the pain and bruises later.

Blaklok grasped the Key and tensed his body in preparation for the coming blow. It was Gorbo, the hulking brute, who was first to reach him. The ape-like figure shoulder barged him, and Blaklok was thrown through the air. The wind was almost punched out of him as he soared across the plaza, right into the path of the clockwork figure of the Timekeeper. One solid metal arm swept down as Blaklok landed, threatening to transfix him where he lay, but he managed to roll just in time as the steel appendage smashed into the ground, shattering the paving stone beneath.

As Blaklok got to his feet he saw that Quickstep was still present, and had not taken the opportunity to flee.

He must have wanted the Key more than Blaklok realised.

Even now he was bravely facing up to a torrent of throwing blades as Shriek the birdman unleashed a razor sharp deluge towards him. Strangely, most of the blades fell wide of their mark, and the ones that hit simply bounced harmlessly off Quickstep’s drab overcoat. But Blaklok had little time to wonder what strange powers were at work before the Timekeeper swept in with another mighty swing of its arm.

Gears cranked and cogs whirred as the metal automaton attacked, puffing steam from vents on its back and moving like some gigantic engine, bent on smashing Blaklok to pieces.

It raised its arm high, expelling a gout of steam from a pipe at its neck as though blowing out a gaseous breath of air. Blaklok waited, picking his moment, hoping his next move would pay off. As he heard Gorbo galloping towards him once more he moved, dashing aside as the Timekeeper’s arm swept down towards where, a second before, he had been standing. But Blaklok was not there, instead, the thick-necked form of Gorbo had rushed in, intent on smashing into his foe. The Timekeeper’s arm crashed into Gorbo’s head, just as the apeman smashed into the Timekeeper’s metal chassis, and both of them plunged over the edge of the plaza to the ground below.

Blaklok could hear the sickening thud of Gorbo and the clanging crash of the Timekeeper as they hit the ground, but he had no time to gloat.

‘You’re a wily one, Thaddeus Blaklok.’ Flense was standing right beside him, two wicked looking blades in his hands, their edges a forest of serrated teeth. ‘But let’s put an end to it. No more running, no more fighting. Today is the da–’

‘Are you going to fucking cut me or talk me to death?’ said Blaklok, taking a step towards the flayed man and offering him an easy target.

‘Oh, please. Show some dignity in the face of oblivion, Thaddeus. There’s no need for profanities.’

‘Cunt,’ Blaklok replied, and spat a gob of phlegm through pursed lips.

‘Very well,’ replied Flense, sweeping his blades in swift, almost invisible arcs. ‘Have it your way.’

There was a screech, ear piercing enough to make Blaklok wince, and before Flense could stripe him with those wicked blades, something flew through the air and smashed into the flayed freak. Both figures went down in a heap and Blaklok could see it was Shriek who lay on top of Flense in a tangle of arms and legs.

Blaklok looked to the side and saw Quickstep grinning from beneath the shadow of his flat cap.

‘Now,’ he said, the grin suddenly evaporating. ‘The Key, if you please.’

Thaddeus held up the Key. ‘Sorry mate. If you want it, you’ll have to take it.’

Quickstep gave a resigned nod of his head. ‘That’s what I thought.’ He took a step towards Blaklok.

A strange feeling overcame Thaddeus as the diminutive figure of Quickstep moved closer. It was obvious there was something unnatural about the man – the way he managed to resist any and all attempts to kill him was one – but now there was an aura about him, one that Blaklok felt was familiar. He didn’t glow or give off a strange sound or smell, it was something deeper than that, something more primal. Blaklok had felt it before, but for the life of him he couldn’t place the exact time or place, or even the individuals in question. It all added up to Quickstep being something altogether more frightening than even President Valac or the horde of rampaging demons the Cult of Legion was determined to inflict on the Manufactory.

Searing pain enveloped Blaklok’s hand and he found the Key of Lunos suddenly spinning from his grip. At first he thought it was something Quickstep had done – some foul magick he had conjured – but instantly he realised it was something much more mundane. As the Key went spinning away, Blaklok saw his hand was held fast by the end of a whip, the other end held in the grip of the Punctress. She snatched the spinning Key from the air and leered at him, her nose and mouth fat and bleeding.

‘You must enjoy pain,’ Blaklok said as he resisted her insistent tugging and pulled her towards his clenched fist.

‘You have no idea,’ she replied, licking the blood from the side of her mouth.

Blaklok threw his punch but this time it was the Punctress who was the faster, kicking out with one pointed, thigh high boot and catching Blaklok in the jewels.

He grunted, dropping to his knees, and felt the unique pain that only a kick in the balls can inflict.

‘This is where the fun really starts,’ said the Punctress, placing the Key of Lunos between her lips lasciviously and pulling out a flat baton with a studded head from her belt. For all the world it looked like some kind of twisted love toy, but Blaklok had a feeling it was far more suited to inflicting pain than pleasure.

Behind him he could hear groaning as Flense and Shriek began to stir, rising to their unsteady feet. There was an ominous clank of metal legs as the Timekeeper made his way up to the plaza.

Quickstep didn’t seem ready to help him this time – the little fucker was trying to make himself as indiscreet as possible, pacing towards the rim of the plaza ready to make his escape.

It was time for Blaklok to make his escape too; the Key would have to wait. As much as it pained him to leave it in the care of these circus freaks, there was no way he could take them all on alone.

Blocking out the dull pain that went from his balls all the way to his throat, Thaddeus lurched towards the edge of the plaza, desperate to dive beyond it and run to safety. The Punctress pulled hard, trying to stop him, but Thaddeus was not about to let some masochistic bitch get in his way. He dragged her with him, her heels scraping along the concrete as he strode towards the edge. The whip untangled from his grip and the Punctress went sprawling, just as a shining metal blade flew past Blaklok’s head.

‘That’s it, Thaddeus,’ said Flense, rising to his feet. ‘Run! They always do.’

Another blade flew at him but this one hit its mark, piercing the thick muscle of Blaklok’s shoulder. Shriek and Flense moved like lightning, closing the gap between them and Thaddeus but before they could stop him, he flung himself over the plaza’s edge, without checking to see just how high they were.

It was a short plunge, but high enough to do serious damage if he didn’t land right. Luckily there was a large and bulky form laying prone on the ground ready to cushion his landing. Gorbo was just rising to all fours, shaking his head from his own fall, when Blaklok landed on top of him, flattening him back to the tarmac beneath. The bulky ape squealed as the air was punched out of his lungs, and Blaklok bounced off him and hit the ground.

He didn’t wait to survey the damage, or for anyone else to land by his side and try to cut his head off. He just ran for his life.

Blaklok let the streets take him, racing through them like a madman suddenly freed from the asylum. People stopped and stared as he raced past, but they were faceless to him, inconsequential. He didn’t know how long he ran for but it was long enough for his lungs to feel like they were two sandbags in his chest and his legs wooden blocks.

He didn’t know where he was or how long he had been running, but eventually he had to stop. He leaned a hand against a grimy wall and bent over, sucking air into shrivelled-feeling lungs.

The ground at Blaklok’s feet suddenly erupted in splinters, the telltale report of carbine fire exploding all around. Shards of brickwork were blown away beside him and he crouched down, raising his hands defensively. Figures surrounded him, weapons levelled, faces masked by the grim helms of the Judicature.

‘Hello again, Mr Blaklok. You do remember me, don’t you? I’d be ever so upset if you’d forgotten me already.’

He did fucking remember her – more’s the pity.

Blaklok turned and there she was, the stern features on that youthful face softening as she smiled in triumph.

‘It’s Indagator Amelia, in case you’d forgotten,’ she said. ‘Shall we?’ She motioned for him to follow.

Blaklok glanced around at the firepower arrayed against him, a score of guns all aimed right at his head.

‘I guess we shall,’ he said.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Another day, another interrogation cell. Thaddeus was beginning to feel quite at home here in the restraining pens of the Judicature.

Standing over him was Indagator Amelia. He had never quite appreciated how pretty she was – how innocent her features seemed, at least for a representative of the corrupt, totalitarian regime that watched over the rich of the city at the sufferance of the poor.

Her face was untarnished, not a blemish on that porcelain skin, and she seemed to have quite a regal bearing. From the look of her she had most likely attained her position through familial connections rather than hard footwork. Then again, Blaklok thought that a face like that and a well-to-do family might do more to hold someone back within the masculine precincts of the Judicature. Maybe she did deserve her position after all, maybe she had been compelled to put in twice the work for half the reward, merely due to her sex and her pretty face and daddy’s money.

Most likely that meant she had something to prove.

It would certainly explain the stick up her arse.

Then again, Blaklok could only admire her for her tenacity. There weren’t many who could claim to have got one over on Thaddeus Blaklok. Well, all right then, two over, but she had help both times, so it probably only counted as once.

There was only one goon with her now – the one with the carbine. She must have done some proper damage to the other one when she shot him.

Ruthless streak.

Blaklok was really starting to warm to this Amelia. Then again, that would most likely change when the actual interrogating began, but until then he would enjoy the silence.

‘A colleague of mine said I should just follow the carnage,’ she said.

This caught Blaklok off-guard, and he frowned, momentarily confused.

‘To find you, that is. Of course my colleague’s an imbecile, and on any other day I would disregard his advice. But on this occasion he happened to be correct, Mr Blaklok. Follow the sightings of demons, the reports of strange characters brawling in the streets, and there you are, waiting for me. I must say it was accommodating of you to run into us like that. Hodge and I found it most amusing, didn’t we Hodge?’

She glanced towards her tipstaff, who gave a humourless nod in return.

Thaddeus turned to him, staring into those cold shark’s eyes. ‘Was it as amusing as when she shot your mate?’ he asked, with a wink.

The tipstaff called Hodge stiffened slightly, his eyes narrowing with hatred. It was obvious he wanted to inflict some pain for that comment, but he wouldn’t without Amelia’s say so. That was good – discipline was always to be admired. And for one as young as this Amelia to have the respect and obedience of one so mindless and brutal was rare.

‘What isn’t amusing, Mr Blaklok,’ cut in Amelia, ‘is the devastation you leave behind wherever you go. Earl Beuphalus is a bloody corpse. The Repository of Unnatural History will never be the same again, so I’m told. Demonic manifestations and the theft of important arcane artefacts follow you like flies after a gangrenous dog. What is it about you that seems to attract so much wanton chaos?’

‘Guess I’m just lucky.’

‘Lucky? Indeed. As lucky as the family you butchered?’

Blaklok was silent.

‘What? No smart answer for that one? Brings back memories, does it? Are they particularly pleasant, or is there a pang of remorse within that impregnable frame?’

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Blaklok replied.

It appeared that playtime was well and truly over.

‘Do I not? Am I mistaken about the woman and her children? About the pursuit by the authorities in which you killed a number of judicial representatives? Come now, Mr Blaklok, mistaken? Then perhaps you’d care to enlighten me.’