The Colour of Vengeance (25 page)

“When one has a habit of passing out and then waking up to find oneself in a gutter and, um, well and truly robbed, alternative funding is often required in order to keep up said habit.”

“Right ya are, Anders. Ya got enough in there fer a night o' drinkin' an' supplies fer a trip into the Fade have ya?”

Anders laughed. “Not at all. But I wager after a night's drinking I'll have rustled up a few more bits. You would be amazed at the number of people who don't adequately look after their belongings.”

Thorn nodded. “A comprise then.”

“Compromise,” Anders corrected.

“Aye. One o' those. Gotta admit, I wouldn't mind a drink or two an' I guess we might find some locals willin' ta part with some advice 'bout navigatin' the Fade.”

So with Anders leading the way they walked into one of the dirtiest little shit-holes of a tavern Henry had ever seen. The place named itself
the Silent Wraith
but truth was it was anything but silent. Well used straw covered the floor in layers and the stench of stale beer was overpowering. Henry sniffed and scowled at the smell but Anders took a deep breath and sighed in contentment. The walls were bare, the tables were scarred and the inhabitants were rowdy. A typical wilds tavern if ever Henry saw one.

Some of the patrons looked up at the newcomers but most gave them a sound ignoring. There were just two tables unoccupied and both were fairly central to the room, Thorn growled something about dangerous positions but Henry and Anders ignored him. The barman, a big-bellied man with two chins, no hair and red cheeks nodded to them as they sat in a way that said he'd be with them soon. Henry noticed a group of dangerous-looking folk sat in one of the corners, six men and all well-armed, they were sipping at mugs and smoking pipes of what smelled like casher weed.

Anders smiled at Henry. “I think we fit in well here, don't you?”

Henry glared back at him from underneath her hat. “Reckon you fit in anywhere there's a drink.”

“Quite right.”

The barman, and most likely owner, waddled over and treated them all to a friendly smile. “Ya all want beer? Tastes a bit like piss but it'll get ya drunk. Got some mead too but it's a bit more pricey. Made local it is, some folk nearby keep bees.”

Thorn growled.

“Ya don't like bees, son?” the barman asked.

“Ever seen a man die from bein' stung by the little monsters?” Thorn asked.

“No.”

“I have. Reckon the piss-flavoured beer'll do jus' fine. Three mugs.”

“Best make it four,” Anders said. “I have a terrible thirst.”

“There a time ya don't have a thirst?” Henry asked.

Anders pretended to think about it for a moment before shaking his head. “No.”

The barman walked away nodding and returned a minute later with four mugs of something dark and brown that tasted a lot, Henry assumed, like piss. Anders gulped it down gratefully after paying while Henry and Thorn took to nursing theirs. A lifetime of playing the game in the wilds had convinced them both of the virtues of not passing out in taverns. The barman sat down on the fourth stool at the table, the little wooden construct creaked at the weight.

“You folk are new here.”

Henry reached for a throwing a knife, she could already tell Thorn had done the same. Anders grinned at the man and nodded enthusiastically. “I wouldn't have thought it was so obvious, though I suppose you know most of your regular patrons.”

The fat barman nodded. “Ya lookin' ta take a gander at the Fade?”

Henry watched Thorn lean forwards and fix the man with a glare from his eye. “Reckon we might been thinkin' 'bout it. Ain't many places in the wilds I ain't been but the Fade is one o' them. Figured I should cross it off the list.”

“Dangerous place, the Fade,” the barman continued. “Can't see more than a few feet. Easy ta get lost. I'm told those compass things don't work neither. Reckon the fog messes with 'em.”

Henry looked at Anders. “What's a compass.”

“Ahh, my lady. I used to have one myself but I, uh, misplaced it a long time ago. It's a little device, they fit in the palm of your hand and have a little blade inside that always points north. They're very useful in determining direction.”

“Only the little blade don't work in the Fade,” the barman said. “Just sorta spins around and around. Least far as I hear. Gettin' lost ain't the only problem neither, assumin' ya do know the way to Fogwatch there's always the chance ya might happen upon a wraith.”

Henry snorted. Now the name of the tavern made sense. The wilds was full of people trying to make bits out of monster stories. She once knew a man who claimed he knew where ta find Drurr, deep underneath the yellow mountains. The charlatan was offering to lead an expedition down to their lair for a hefty sum of compensation. Chances were he got folk down in the dark then slit their throats and claimed whatever they hadn’t already given to him.

Thorn grunted. He looked more than a little severe. “Wraiths? Dead don't walk in the wilds. Reckon ya want ta be tellin' us what little ya claim ta know.”

The barman smiled and rubbed the thumb and forefinger of his left hand together. Thorn gave Anders a nudge and nodded to pay the man. Anders reached into his little purse, pulled out a bronze bit and handed it to the barman. The fat man nodded.

“Perhaps ya noticed the name o' my tavern,
the Silent Wraith
, well it's not named so by chance. There's plenty of wraiths out in the Fade though not many of 'em can claim ta be silent. Most are wailin', sobbin' monstrosities that glow with an ethereal blue light...”

“A what?” Thorn asked.

“Ethereal blue light.”

“What the fuck does Eferal mean?”

The smile faded from the barman's face and was replaced by a frowning brow. “Well, it, um, it means, sorta...”

“It means not of this world,” Anders filled in after gulping down the last of his first mug and starting on the second. “Ghostly.”

Thorn let out a low growl. The barman cleared his throat and continued.

“Well there's always been wraiths in the Fade. They, um, sorta glow a bit, blue like an' they float around lookin' fer unwary folk ta suck the life from.”

“Aye?” Thorn asked.

“Aye. Never leave the Fade though. Some say they're trapped there, the ghosts of all those that died, lost in the fog. Others say that every time a wraith kills a victim,” the barman leaned forwards, “the victim becomes a wraith themselves. They don't tend ta attack groups o' folk like yaself but they have been known ta group together an' kill entire parties.”

Henry snorted. “No such thing as wraiths. Ya...”

“No such thing as demons neither, Henry,” Thorn said with a serious face. Wasn't much Henry could say about that given a demon had tried to eat her less than a year back.

“Of course there are precautions wary folk can take against wraith attacks while traversing the Fade,” the barman continued.

“An' I suppose ya got a wide variety of these precautions fer folk at a modest cost,” Henry shook her head. “Jus' another form of bein' robbed this, I reckon.”

Thorn ignored her. “What sort o' precautions?”

The barman smiled a generous smile. “I think fer folk like yaself a charm would probably work best. Wards against the appearance o' wraiths. The dead fear it ya see. Small necklace it is, blessed by the priests of the Five Kingdoms.”

“Aye. They know about the dead over there,” Thorn said, nodding.

“One silver bit per necklace, or twelve bronze bits.” the barman said.

“Anders, hand the man some bits.”

“Uh, boss, that's somewhat close to everything we have.”

“Aye, well I don't wanna get ate by the dead. It don't take long 'fore ya come back... That ain't happenin' ta me. Give him the money.”

Anders grumbled something under his breath but handed over the bits. The barman whisked the coins away and came back a couple of minutes later with a small round bit of wood no bigger than a coin with a crude symbol carved into one of its sides. A loop of string was attached so the charm could be hung around the neck. Thorn snatched the necklace and quickly placed it over his head.

“A wise man ya are, sir. That'll keep the wraiths at bay an' no mistake. Best go deal with the other customers now,” the barman said, grinning from ear to ear, and waddled away.

Henry shook her head. “That there is a right fuckin' waste o' bits.”

Thorn snorted. “I'll remind ya of that when there's a damned wraith chewin' on ya leg.”

Anders finished off his mug and pushed himself to his feet. “Well I suppose I should rustle us up some more coin seeing as the boss has just spent almost all of ours. If anyone happens to catch me I do hope at least one of you will come rushing to my rescue. I would remind you I am not exactly armed.”

Thorn waved Anders away and he and Henry went back to their mugs and played at glaring at each other. It was never an easy thing winning a glaring match with the Black Thorn, most folk found it hard to stare into Henry's eyes but not him, he could stare with the best of them. Problem was now he only had the one eye it somehow made that stare damned unnerving. Henry glanced away before long and decided to focus her attention on her beer. She could feel Thorn grinning at her.

Somewhere into their second beer Anders reappeared with a much larger purse and a drunken glow. Henry immediately grabbed his tunic, pulled him closer and kissed him. Truth was she was bored and when she was bored she liked to either fuck or stab things.

“Can we expect someone ta be wantin' those bits back?” Thorn asked.

Anders detached himself from Henry and smiled. “I wouldn't say so. I won all these fair in a game of chance and skill. It involves flicking a single bronze bit into a mug from increasingly longer distances and drinking every time you get it in. I believe my opponents may have underestimated my capacity.”

That explained why he tasted and smelled of the piss-flavoured beer they served in the tavern. A flicker of movement caught Henry's eye. After so long playing the game in the wilds she had learned to notice when people where paying her particular attention and notice when that attention was about to turn to action. Henry caught Thorn's eye with nod and he understood right away. Hands went to weapons, hers and his. Anders seemed oblivious of the violence that was about to ensue.

The man stopped just outside of striking distance and held up his hands. “Mind if I sit? I'm unarmed, left my weapons back with my crew.” He pointed to another table; five other lads sat watching the encounter.

“Dunno what business ya reckon ya got but it don't involve us,” Thorn said, his right hand appearing above the table with the dirk unsheathed.

The man smiled. He was tall and handsome with a strong jaw, long dark hair and soft blue eyes. He had an easy grace about him but Henry knew better than most how jovial folk could be right cunts.

“Reckon I'll sit anyway. Slowly. No sudden moves. Don't want ta get stabbed or nothin'.” He sat down on the same stool the barman had occupied and laid his hands on the table as a show of good faith. “Good. Now I reckon we can talk business...”

“Do you have a name, good fellow?” Anders slurred at the man, the slur was new and he'd taken to swaying a little in his seat as he waved a mug of beer at the newcomer. Just how much of the drunken fool was an act Henry couldn’t tell.

“Aye. I do. Name's Ben. Six-Cities Ben.”

Henry didn't know the name but then there were plenty of names in the wilds she didn't know. Thorn was another matter entirely; his teeth clenched, his eye went cold and his hand holding the dirk twitched.

“Easy there big man,” Six-Cities Ben said with a smile. “I get injured an' my friend over there with the crossbow lets loose. Now he ain't the best of shots, that's the fucking truth an' no mistake, but the chances that one of ya is getting stuck is fairly high. That being said I reckon ya want to hear what it is I've got to say. Yes?”

Thorn said nothing. Henry tightened her grip on her knife. Anders drained his beer. “I for one would be delighted to hear anything and everything you have to say, my good man. However I am also a firm believer that all talk goes down a lot more smoothly with a beer in hand and I do believe I've just finished mine.”

Six-Cities Ben laughed and nodded his head. “That sounds fair enough.” He waved to the barman and handed over four bronze bits and sat in silence while he waited for the mugs to arrive. It was a tense time made slightly less so by Anders humming to himself.

“'Bout time ya spoke ya piece, Ben,” Thorn said once the beers had arrived. The barman hurried away as fast as his fat feet would allow. Henry reckoned
the Silent Wraith
had seen more than its fair share of violence judging by the scars on the walls.

“Aye. Well I hope ya don't me saying but you look a little familiar,” said Six-Cities Ben, his voice was full of humour.

“I get that more than ya might think. It's the eye-patch, I reckon.”

“Hah. The eye-patch, yeah. See I said the exact same thing but my brother, big man over there with grey hair, goes by the name Heavy-Hand though our da' named him Joan, not really a man's name, I know, but our da' had an odd sense of humour. Anyways, my brother said it weren't the eye-patch that was familiar, quite the opposite in fact, it were everything else. Now wait, wait, before ya get all stabby remember the crossbow. Nobody need get hurt just yet, plenty more talking to get through.”

Judging by the look on Thorn's face he didn't much like the idea of more talking. Henry was about to say something herself but Anders got there first.

“You talk a lot, Ben. Can I call you Ben?”

Six-Cities Ben smiled. “If ya like. I do talk a lot, it's a curse. Comes from having a big family, I reckon. Lots of brothers an' not many of 'em big on talking so I took to it myself. See I used to have eight brothers, no sisters despite my ma' desperately wanting one, but uh, only six of us left these days.

“Ant was the first one to go. Fool tried to cross the Jorl on a bet, got his leg bit off by one of them water lizards. Took our revenge though, killed the bloody thing and ate it. Tasted... well it tasted like shit but we did it more for the act of vengeance really.”