A Tailor's Son (Valadfar) (27 page)

Harold didn’t know how he got from the saddest story he had
ever heard to lying with Muriel. It had all happened so fast. Harold
guessed they had both been feeling that way for days and the prospect
of finally being free spurred it to happen. They crawled from bed
around four in the evening it was still calm and mostly dry outside with
only a few clouds threatening to change that and bring the rain back.
They both dressed and prepared to make their way to find a courier to
take a letter to the Times noble. It is strange really how pleasant the
walk was. The long lie-in had fully re-energised them and any doubt
they had of being together had been washed away in the moment of
ecstasy. Harold thought to hell with what was proper for a
middle-class-gentleman and he held Muriel close to him, their steps
perfectly in time. The sun’s golden rays cascading down over the water
reflected a beautiful contrast to the city, even with the water as soiled as
it was. The moment in time was perfect. They stopped at the jetty just
outside the fishmonger’s guild and there, below the setting sun, Harold
kissed Muriel for the last time. As Harold pulled away still feeling her
warmth on his lips he watched as Muriel’s eyes grew wide. Harold
moved too slowly as he saw her gaze turn to fear. The impact hit his
ribs like a war hammer and Harold fell into the water. The world spun
out of control as Harold went under sinking deep into the icy waters.
With barely a moment to think he struggled and crashed back into the
open air gasping for breath. His eyes found Muriel grasped tightly in
William’s embrace.

“
You did not think we had forgotten about you did you, Harold? You
know where to find me if you’re brave enough. It might even be in time to save your
little sweetheart if you’re quick.”
William said, and then forcefully kissed
Muriel and began to drag her away. She struggled and tried to scream
but his hand was clasped tightly over her mouth. Harold began
swimming frantically for the jetty but by the time he pulled himself to
the shore, she was gone. The crowd of people that had stopped and
gathered in the street did nothing but stare at him. It angered him that
the typical city dweller would not raise a hand to help a women being
dragged off like that, a sad fact of the time it had become all too
common. Not one of them had moved to save her. Harold knew they
would not have stood a chance but at least it might have given him the
time he needed to have got to her. Harold had no choice now but to go
and face William after all. It seemed that what the priest said had been
true. The Rakta Ishvara would not leave anyone that knew about it,
alive. Harold left the canals and headed home to prepare. He would
risk death for a chance to save Muriel.

Nightfall came and Harold had taken to hiding in the attic.
The guard came more than once to search the lower floors but they
didn’t come up into the small hatch that was all but hidden above the
wardrobe in what had been Muriel’s room. Alone in the dark with a few
candles burning Harold read through the priests diaries looking for
some clue as to how to beat William. The silence drove him to insanity
by the time the bells called out midnight and this is where this story
goes full circle. When this tale started, we joined Harold alone and
scared of shadows flicking from his candles, scared for the beast that is
the Rakta Ishvara and now it is time to tell of what happens after. When
morning came, Harold finished writing in his diary and slammed it
shut; sealing it with twine along with the books he had kept from Paul
before sending it to his mother. Harold knew it was unlikely he would
return and proving his innocence was now second to explaining to his
mother why she would lose both men in her life so close together.
Harold hoped she would understand. He had lived in fear for weeks,
but he realised he could not run anymore. He attached a note to the
books in which he instructed his mother to sell the shop. After all, he
was not coming back and Harold was no longer a tailor. He could see
no way of returning to that life now. There was only one way he could
see him beating William. Even if he could save Muriel, his life would be
changed forever. He ended the letter by telling his mother how he
loved her but that he could never come back. Harold planned to go
back to Saint Anne’s. He would arm himself with the herbs the priest
had so stupidly told him were toxic to the Rakta Ishvara. Grabbing the
iron fire poker his father had used so well as a weapon, Harold slipped
it under his trench coat and made for the door.

The morning outside was still as dark as night and in the
distance the wind howled through the valley of buildings. Harold had
been on edge as he made his way to Saint Anne’s. When he arrived he
was worried the guard had been there, although there was no sign of it
other than a shuffling of the leaves upon the floor. Harold was
beginning to get a sense for their presence. He found the door to Saint
Anne’s locked. The fire poker wedged into the side of the frame made
light work of the latch and the door flew open after the second or third
tug. Inside, the smell of flash powder from detectives confirmed
Harold’s suspicion. The church was all but empty, only the bats
fluttering above in the wooden arches of the roof and the odd moth
unlucky enough to become lunch as it followed Harold inside, kept him
company. Thick clouds of mist from the river blocked any light from
entering the chapel’s windows. Harold strained his eyes in the darkness,
looking for the prayer candles he’d seen on his last visit. He found
them atop a table not far from the font and lit one of the small wicks.
The gentle glow it gave off was fairly useless, but it was better than
nothing. He cradled its tiny flame from the breeze created as he walked,
and made for the catacombs. Creeping as quietly as he could Harold
made his way down into the darkness. There was a swift darkening
shadow below that almost made him drop the candle as the breeze
caught the flame. A second dark shadow raced across the wall much
closer. There was a crash from below and the sound of something soft
hitting the floor before scurrying off. Harold sucked in his breath ready
to face William.

“Muriel?
” He called out. The scratching stopped but no one
answered. “
Muriel, are you there
?” Suddenly a shadow caught the corner
of his eye. Harold dropped the candle and swinging the poker with all
his might, he struck something soft. Harold heard a squeak and
watched as the mouse’s beaten body fell down behind the candle
towards the foot of the stairs. His heart pounding, he gazed into the
room below. William was not there and neither was Muriel. Harold was
glad to see that the bodies of Paul and his father had been removed. At
least it had not been left to be feasted on by rats. It was just a shame the
smell of rotting flesh hadn’t left with them. He gasped for breath as he
held onto the handrail running down into the depths. The coffins had
been slid aside and most of the leaves gathered up into piles. He
scooped up a good handful of the leaves and couldn’t believe what he
was actually going to do next.

The
Queens that
was where it had really all started, the first time
he had seen William. Using three of his last five shillings, Harold took a
cart to the building site that had already formed around the tavern’s old
ashes. Just as he hoped, the hatch was still accessible. As Harold waved
the cart off and paid his dues, he approached the hatch. Even better,
the lock had recently been broken. Harold scattered a few Abrus leaves
around the entrance of the hatch his skin burning as he did so. He
hoped it would persuade William to stay in the darkness below. He
crushed the rest of the leaves against the iron fire poker, the oil coating
the bladed edge. Harold gripped the handle and he remembered the
description of the spears in the temple from Paul’s diary. Now wasn’t
the time to daydream though, he needed to focus. Keeping an image of
Muriel in his mind, he made his way down, dropping into the darkness
below. The cellar was dull, but the holes in the roof where the tavern
supports had once been, let a shallow light slither through. The dusty
beam of light seemed afraid to enter the cellar fully. There were no
cockroaches scuttling around down there and Harold knew it was
because William was there, somewhere out of sight. It was too quiet,
far too calm. Even the noise from the busy dockyard above did not
seem to be able to breach the walls and cascade down. There was no
sound of loose rubble falling, no sound as stones heated up from the
freezing night. Even the noise of continual dripping sounded wrong. It
was as though the droplets fell reluctantly. Standing there mesmerised,
Harold gazed around trying to take in every shadow that might be a
threat. To his immediate left, a pile of rubble had fallen from the
ceiling. A scorched oak beam had collapsed with it and jutted out like a
tree growing in the forest. The western wall that was once filled with
kegs from floor to ceiling was now empty, the brickwork battered and
flaking. The plaster was crisp and hanging off in weak strands, if the
wind could find its way in from above the wall would have fallen easily,
bringing in the moist soil that lay just beyond it and the sound of
rushing water hinted that an underground river passed close by or a
flooded part of the labyrinth at least. To Harold’s right lay a small
doorway leading to the second room of the cellar. It was the entrance
to the larder. Harold remembered how it used to smell of fine herbs,
strong meats and fresh vegetables. As he approached the doorway, the
door itself blown through and burnt, all he could smell was smoke and
ashes. Pausing with his back against the lime bricks making up the arch,
Harold listened through into the next room. Somewhere inside was a
faint breathing sound carried on the breeze.

“
Muriel.”
He called out, unable to help himself. The sound of
a muffled voice was heard in response.
“You surprise me Harold. I really wasn’t sure if you would be foolish
enough to come.”
William said from out of the darkness of the small room.
Harold needed to get him talking, to pinpoint where he was, before
leaping through into the pitch black.
“
You better not have hurt her.”
Harold shouted. He listened for a
reply so hard his eardrums ached with the effort.
“Not yet, you are lucky. I found a steady supply of whores to feed on while
I waited. I wanted you to watch this one die.”
William took a step, the ash
below his feet parting softly, but not silently. This let Harold know he
was to the right of the doorway, somewhere close. Harold felt a light
dusting fall down the back of his neck and knew that William was
directly opposite on the other side of the wall, less than a foot of
brickwork separating them.

“Let her go and I will be yours without a fight.”
Harold said trying to
buy some time.
“What would I have to gain from that? You won’t win against me and I
would lose a snack.”
William’s confidence annoyed Harold but he knew he
must not get angry. He needed to keep a clear head that was the answer.
“
This is your last warningדחא תא ינשה.”
Harold said keeping
William behind him on the wall. William laughed giving Harold the
chance he needed to move himself along slightly his fingertips tracing
the edge of the doorway.
“
Well you surprise me with the length you would go to. I hope you are
ready to deal with the consequences’.”
William said. Harold knew exactly
where William was and the revelation that Harold had taken one of the
Rakta onto himself shocked William for just long enough. Harold had
hoped William wouldn’t be able to sense it as it was too soon but it
would still give him a fighting chance. Harold gripped the wall’s edge
with his free hand and spun himself around the wall, swinging the iron
poker in front of him as he went. It clashed against William faster than
even he could dodge and pinned William against the wall. William
growled and pushed back hard, gripping Harold’s neck like a vice.
Harold choked on his own blood but he would not give up that easily.
Harold, with his hand still stinging from the impact against the
brickwork, wasted no time in lunging again in Williams’s direction. The
poker pierced flesh and Harold kept pushing, William’s resistance, at
first strong as an ox, seemed to be failing as Harold used all his might
pressing into the unseen. The Abrus oil seemed to be working as
William’s grip weakened. Harold had no idea where he had punctured
but he didn’t care. Charging forward the two interlocked and crashed
into the central wall, bringing down a landslide from above as the roof
fell in as they broke through the dividing wall. Daylight flooded in and
for the first time Harold saw William clearly. His dark black eyes stared,
fixed squarely on him. Both William’s hands clasped the sharp end of
the poker which was rammed into his gut. Harold so much wanted to
spare a glance towards Muriel, just to make sure she was safe. To check
that the roof hadn’t hurt her as it had fallen but with William waiting
for his chance, and the room rapidly filling with freezing water from
the adjacent tunnel, Harold knew he couldn’t afford the luxury and had
to be fast. He let go of the poker just long enough to cup his hands
together into a fist and he smacked down onto the poker handle,
forcing the pivot in the poker to rise upwards. Harold’s hands were
sliced open like soft cheese but he hit it again. The sound of breaking
bone and a screech from William was followed by a spray of congealed
blood as the poker wedged itself between Williams’s ribs and the callus
of the Rakta Ishvara. William’s body fell limply to the floor. Harold hit
the handle repeatedly wanting to be sure that William was really dead.
Eventually the poker ripped free and sank to the bottom of the water.
William’s ribs had been cracked open, exposing the weak larva inside
for what it was. Clasped around William’s heart the small creature
pulsated for a few seconds, and then finally stopped. It let go of the
heart and went to swim away. Harold bent down and picked the small
leach-like creature up. Holding it in his lacerated hands the creature was
no bigger than a halfpenny. He dropped it to the floor and with his heel
put an end to it all, only then able to look for Muriel. She lay close by
coated in filth and her mouth barely above water level but she was alive.
She’d been lucky and avoided the heaviest of the cave-in. Harold fell to
his knees and quickly pulled the rag from Muriel’s mouth.
“Is he dead?
” She asked glancing over at the body that had
fallen to the ground behind Harold.
“Yes, it’s over. It’s finally over
.” Harold said as he kissed Muriel.
Her lips were still as soft as he remembered. Her smile afterwards still
as sweet, and the feeling still as perfect.
“I can’t wait to show you the coast
.”
Harold said helping Muriel to her feet.