Death's Reckoning (31 page)

A few men approached their group from the side, dirty, unwashed regular citizens with frightened expressions.

“Hey there, Officer Cubbins. What’s this all about?”

“Yeah, what gives? Never seen nothin’ like that afore.”

Cubbins waved them off. “Go about your business.”

They argued with him and persisted. One man was very belligerent, but Cubbins called over some of his men, and they shooed them away.

“Run along now,” Cubbins said. “Go on.”He grabbed one of his officers and pulled him close, feeling anger grip his mind. It should not have been necessary to tell them. “Round up some city watch, damn it. Get these people back in their homes. Do it.”

“Yes sir!”

The officer obeyed, running off without hesitation, but Cubbins heard an undercurrent of fear in his voice. Either he was frightened by the specter or understood the volatile nature of these idiots watching them. The riots weren’t too far removed from all of their minds.

The crowd grew as they moved along. The ghost wailed all the while. It grated his nerves. Maybe he would tell Unri to release it into the crowd; that would shut them up. Curiosity could doom many of them, gawking fools. Screamed understandable words, on and on about the pain, to release his tormented soul. Then it disintegrated into gibberish, or maybe they were slurs in the foreigner’s tongue.

But the stone-faced cousins didn’t listen, nor did Unri or Yuri seem concerned. They were professional. Cubbins both admired and was annoyed by them. He wished more of his officers were like them; instead of playing cards on duty or going to the tavern when they should’ve been working, helping people. These men were unconcerned with walking a chained ghost down the street.

Maybe they weren’t even human. Maybe they were themselves possessed and this was some kind of inner spectral war he had stumbled into. It figured. He couldn’t even die like a normal officer in Sea Haven but instead had to get tied up in this conflict, have his soul stripped away by a spectral monster.

His musings were interrupted by a rotten ball of cabbage that sailed through the air. Cubbins ducked, and it struck one of his officers. The man cursed and faced his assailants as a crowd threw whatever they could get their hands on. Their fear turned into anger as it always did.

Cubbins roared at them. “Get these people back! Damn it, men, move them back! I want some city watch up here now!”

The police scurried to obey, taking out their cudgels and lining up to push the angry crowd back. Jenkins barked some orders at them, and soon they moved as one unit towards the mob that had little heart. However, there was one man with the desire for a fight. He was a tall, scruffy man with a tattered shirt, a vagrant Cubbins knew by sight.

He shoved forward through the crowd and tried to take a swing at one of his men, but Cubbins saw two others step forward and clubbed the man across the side of his head. The lout fell like a timbered tree, smashing face first into the street. Some in the crowd groaned, but they all backed away.

Sometimes all that was needed was to stomp down one loud mouth, and the rest quieted down. City watch came running up a few moments later, alerted to the commotion, and Cubbins sent Jenkins with them to clean up the rest.

Unri and his men didn’t wait for them. They kept marching down the street, every so often stopping to wait for the ghost to figure out where to go. Cubbins shouted at Jenkins, and they ran after them.

They walked up and down the streets. The night wore on later and later until very few people were about, and even the ghost began to whimper less and less. His pitiful wails still nerve rattling, still horrifying, but Cubbins became accustomed to them to some degree.

Some people stopped to gawk. Others walked by, glancing and staring for a moment but then acted as if they couldn’t care less. They had seen worse in this town. They had their own demons and ghosts within them. And they lived with it every day.

Soon the ghost led them towards a more secluded portion of town, northeast of the marketplace and not far from the open end of the northern part of the shipping yards. It was a marshy, craggy place where the water had carved into the broken edge of the tributary. Cubbins knew a few caves dotted the landscape outside of town near where they were and to the south of town as well.

The mountain range to the north loomed above them, and Cubbins wondered if they were heading that way. He hadn’t been this way for years, and all of a sudden he wanted his nice warm bed. Even his office couch sounded good.

The captured ghost had quieted down, perhaps resigned to its fate, perhaps its energy was spent. It floated and spun around like a bird caught on a string. The chains went slack in the men’s arms. They stayed ready, though, alert and watching all around.

Cubbins respected their discipline. It would be difficult to hold onto those chains for any length of time and lesser men would’ve blanched away from being so close to the apparition.

The ghost did nothing but hover there for several minutes.

Cubbins shared a look with Unri, and the man looked frustrated and lost for a moment. He frowned. “Sometimes matter is not so clear. Time much longer than expected here.”

Cubbins held his gaze. “This is a feint. I don’t know the word for your language. This is a feint or a trap. This entity is smart. You said he was ancient. I’m not convinced you could stop him even if we found him this way as it is.”

One of the cousins, Karl, said something to him Cubbins did not understand, and the five of them conversed for a few moments. Yuri became very agitated. After some time, Unri turned back to Cubbins and spoke.

“He agrees with you, my brother. Says is trick. Has happened before.” He said something to the cousins, and the three men dragged the creature closer. It renewed its wailing with intense fury.

Release me! I know nothing, nothing! Release me, I beg of you! Pleeeeease!!!

Unri shouted back at it, frustration clear in his voice, and they dragged it down further towards the ground. Arms strained with the effort as the spirit fought hard to free itself. Unri stepped closer with an opened vial and sprayed it with the fluid within.

The wailing grew in volume and intensity. Cubbins and the other officers had to cover their ears and back away. Jenkins looked frightened. And unlike before, when the ghost would quiet and cower in fear, this time it didn’t stop. It cried and tugged at the bonds in fits like a ship straining and pulling at its anchor in an effort to escape a dock. Something was very wrong.

Whether or not Unri recognized it was unclear. The police captain ordered his men back, and they obeyed. They kept their feet moving, and their ears covered, but neither could they look away. There was an odd energy in the air, popping and cracking, a vortex that held them close.

Unri’s eyes widened at the spectacle. The pure rage and fury of the ghost’s protestations, Yuri shouting at him all the while, and the older man took an involuntary step back. Beni, Yoseph, and Karl fought a losing battle.

The specter went in a frenzy, screaming and yanking on its chains with a frantic strength far beyond that of man. Yuri shoved Unri out of the way, and he flew backwards, tumbling to the ground as the vial flew from his hands. Yuri yelled at the cousins and joined them in trying to reign in the mad ghost, but it kept screaming.

Cubbins couldn’t think. His mind melted inside his skull. All he wanted to do was run away, or fall to the ground and beg for it to end.

Yuri pulled out a scroll from his bottomless pouch and read from it, still keeping a hand on the chains, like trying to hold down a monstrous kite in the mightiest gale imaginable. The specter screamed and fought every step.

Unri got to his feet, shouted at his brother, and tried to step forward, but Cubbins cut him off. The man fought him, but Cubbins yelled at Jenkins and another man to keep him still, and together the three of them held him back.

It seemed impossible, but the ghost’s screams and struggles grew stronger. So loud all other sound disappeared, and Cubbins’ ears buzzed. A strong hum replaced the screams, deep in his head.

Then the ghost exploded.

A light flashed, and Cubbins felt a powerful concussive force knock him backwards while Unri fell off to the side. Several things were very clear to him in that instant: his nose bled, he laid on his back, and he was deaf. Only a dull buzz filtered into his battered brain.

Someone stirred next to him. Cubbins sat up too fast. Dizziness struck him hard, and he felt a gritty wetness under his palms, like dirt covered in oil. A high pitched wine entered his skull.

The first thing he heard was coughing. Then those farther away from the blast started yelling orders. One man squatted down behind him and put his hands under Cubbins’ armpits. “…okay, Captain?”

Cubbins patted his hand, and with the man’s assistance, he stood and shook his head. Several police stood nearby, most with cudgels in their hands. Others were helping the fallen to stand, those still alive. None of his men had run. They had stood their ground.

In front of him was another story, where the grisly remains of the three cousins and Yuri sprawled in bloody pieces. It smoked and bubbled eviscerated innards and splattered brains. The chains, the only evidence of the ghost’s existence, lay limp and lifeless as if they had never held anything at all.

When Cubbins saw Unri’s face, staring in utter horror at the remains of his family, the man looked like a ghost himself.

Chapter Eighteen

The office door was closed; had been for some time.

A few slugs walked by from time to time. Some of them even stopped to stand in front of the door, always about to knock, but with one look at the sullen man standing on the other side of the hallway made them freeze. Something about his look caused them to reconsider the idea of disturbing whatever it was that was happening.

Jerrod stood in line, waiting on these damn fools Derek and Desmond. He had already been rebuffed by one of their sissy aides, a fop dressed like a woman, with a stupid looking hat, and frock thing Jerrod had never seen before. A nice solid punch to the nose would have gotten his attention. But the man told him they were busy.

“Busy? Then why the fuck was I asked to come here?”

“Sorry, sir, but they are not available at the moment. Please wait here. They will call for you soon.”

“Then bugger off, you little shit.”

So Jerrod waited, arms crossed over his massive chest, leaning back against the wall where the wood nailed together chucks of insanity that shouldn’t hold up a squirrel. It poked into his skin with the threat of splinters.

He wasn’t accustomed to being inside the fighting pits for more than a few hours at a time. It was easier to come in, bet, watch the fights, and then leave. The last few days he had spent more time there than he cared to admit. The inside of the construction, deep down in the inner confines, was nothing but stale air, saw dust, and shit.

It was high time he took a break out to his cabin. If they let him leave. Jerrod heaved a mental sigh. He and Zandor were the ones that were supposed to be running this place, not these two sissies. They were supposed to be in charge, reaping the benefits from behind the scenes, making money but not working so hard. That was the whole point.

The door opened. A wormy little man, another of the fools’ assistants, stuck his head around the door and motioned for Jerrod to come in as if he were a dog. Fuck that. Jerrod gave the man a glare but entered. Derek and Desmond were waiting for him, and they ordered their stupid pet to leave them alone. Jerrod stepped in, wary and alert, eyes darting to the sides. These two morons were way too happy for his liking.

“So, Jerrod,” Derek said and smiled, his face like a thick boned rat. “How goes the arena floor? I must say we are quite pleased with how things have progressed thus far.”

“Quite pleased,” Desmond said.

Jerrod eyed them. “Good,” he said, not knowing what else to say.

“So then,” Derek said, “we are also much impressed with Thruck’s performance.”

“The ogre is quite capable,” Desmond said. “Quite capable.”

“Indeed.”

Derek went silent. His face grew more serious, grim even, and Jerrod felt a tremor of worry. It wasn’t fear. These two made him laugh, not afraid. Unease was more like that.

“But there is an important issue we must discuss with you, I’m afraid,” Derek said and shared a look with his partner, but Desmond sat there like a toad on a log. “The problem is simple, Jerrod. Our main attraction is fast becoming a ponderous beast, a dangerous animal.”

Jerrod frowned. “No shit. Of course he’s an animal. What the hell do you mean by that?”

“Thruck is too strong, my dear boy. None of the other fighters wish to face him. They are
refusing
to fight him, in fact.”

Jerrod scoffed. “Buncha cowards.”

Derek regarded him with an air of impatience, but his voice remained controlled and professional. “The last four nights he has killed seven men, injured twice that number, most of which are permanent injuries.”

Jerrod crossed his arms, the metal studs that adorned his upper shirt felt cold and dull. He tapped his foot. “So? What the hell are you two getting at? And why call me? Talk to Zandor. He’s got that thing’s leash.”

Derek smirked. “Indeed. You and your associate brought him back and thus know him. The beast listens to you, responds in a way no one else can summon.”

“We have already spoken with Master Zandor,” Desmond said.

“Yes, indeed we have.”

“So, I’m sure you understand our dilemma. The situation with Thruck is both a boon and a curse because it brings in an incredible amount of extra income to the arena. But now things have changed.”

“We are grateful,” Desmond said.

Derek had his hands over his knees and he sat back, making a face as if he had drank some piss wine. “Oh yes! My goodness. Of course we are grateful for all you have done, very much so. We do indeed appreciate all that you and your associate have done, Jerrod.”

“But something must be done.”

“Yes, something has to be done. Protecting our investment is very important, I’m sure you understand
how
important. The arena must go on, and we feel Thruck must be a part of it. The people demand him.”

Jerrod tried not to show his frustration on his face but failed. Zandor should deal with this. “What am I supposed to do about it? Talk to the other fighters and tell them to man up and not be cowards. Is that it?” He barked a laugh. “That’ll be the day.”

Derek smiled and stayed relaxed. “Oh, heavens no. No, no, no. I do believe some of them ought to question their commitment to their chosen profession, but can anyone blame them? Since his return, Thruck is competing at a much higher level, fighting like a brutal animal. Since he is not human, any man facing him is at a distinct disadvantage.”

“Several men would be,” Desmond said.

“Yes, several men. We wish only for you to speak with him, ask him to show some mercy to his opponents.”

“We aren’t asking him to lose.”

“No, no, of course not. Not to lose on purpose. We want Thruck winning. But killing men, trained fighters of the arena, is bad for business. To show mercy, to fight and win, but lessen the amount of damage is what’s needed. Now, accidents happen in the arena all the time.”

“All the time.”

“Yes, all the time. So please speak with him about this matter, if you would. It is in everyone’s interest that he plays by our rules.”

That’s all they had for him, and Jerrod left their office angry and tired. It was not a good condition to be in if facing an ogre who had grown used to killing humans every night. Well, fuck it. Might as well get this over with. Nothing to be afraid of. It was a stupid animal, nothing more.

Thruck’s living quarters weren’t hard to find. Calling him an animal was easy to swallow once one saw the way it lived. They had cleared away an old section of the holding pins, a place for the fighters to wait before the matches started, and separated the individual spaces to create a mammoth cave area for Thruck to live in.

A gate covered the entrance, nothing more than a nailed together contrivance made of wood, much like the structure itself. Two human guards stood outside. Why Thruck needed bodyguards escaped Jerrod’s mind. The men stationed there saw him step up, and lucky for them, they didn’t stop him from entering.

A simple hallway met him as he swung the gate open and entered. Thruck would have to duck his head and lumber forward like an ape to make it through because of his height. Even Jerrod, a foot and half shorter, felt cramped and tight.

Jerrod had no idea what to say. It felt like something that had been coming, twisting away at his mind, something under normal circumstances to be avoided, but with the prospect of money hovering over him, there was a compulsion to do it.

Thruck’s room was nothing but a grimy cave, similar to the one they had found him in more than a week ago, but it was obvious Zandor had done some simple additions, including animal skins covering the walls and other over-sized furniture to keep Thruck happy. Jerrod wondered why they bothered. The animal would be fine with squatting down in his own shit.

The ogre laid on its back, munching away at the severed leg of some slain animal, smacking its lips and dripping blood down its chin. The room stank of blood and death. Jerrod covered his mouth, grimacing. Filthy beast.

Thruck saw him approach and growled a nasty twitter deep in his throat. He lowered the hunch of meat. His grayish lips covered with blood and gristle. In that moment, Jerrod couldn’t blame the arena fighters for not wanting to fight this thing. The ogre was fearsome.

Jerrod felt a flash of real fear, and that angered him enough to squash it down. He needed to exert his will on it, show him who was in charge, so he pointed a finger at it.

“You listen to me, you filthy swag. We got you this job, worked our asses off to bring you back and set this up for you.” He took a step forward lowered his voice to a growl of his own. “And yer not gonna screw this up for me, ya got it?”

Thruck curled his lips and growled louder.

But Jerrod only snickered. “Yeah, you wanna kill me, don’t you, beast? Well, I’ve killed more men than you have, so don’t think you can scare me. For now yer gonna ease up on these boys you fight and not kill them, ya got that? You play by the rules, and maybe we let you live a while longer. If not, I’m gonna gut you myself, ape.”

Thruck dropped his food and started signing something about Jerrod’s parent’s being descended from rodents. He also signed something about shoving his arm down Jerrod’s throat and ripping his intestines out through his mouth and eating them. It was an elaborate amount of signing. Impressive.

Jerrod’s chuckle was dry. “Yeah, I bet you’d enjoy doing all that, wouldn’t you? Keep thinking whatever you want. But if you don’t do what I say, you’ll wake up with a knife in your back.”

Turning away, he knew Thruck’s eyes were burning a hole in the back. Let the fucker stew all he wanted. The ogre was in charge of nothing. Jerrod was running this place now.

* * * * *

They had some work to do.

It was a strange feeling, being at the docks, traveling back and forth incognito, not talking to people seen every single day. Men and women the Guild Master interacted with, did business with, cared about, and the desire to break his promise to the others was very strong within Muldor, for it was impossible to stop doing his job.

Instead of taking the regular route back to Becket’s office from Lawson’s on the Southern Docks, he took the back alleyways. Most of the time the conspirators used runners to send information back and forth from both camps, but some information was too important to risk.

They told him it wasn’t necessary for him to do the work. He was still a wanted man, Becket or Lawson could do it, but Muldor insisted because of the desire to stay an active part of the plan. Back at Becket’s office, with the door closed and only men they trusted within, Muldor brought back the latest information.

“Tomlinson is with us,” Muldor said, and the group breathed a collective sigh of relief.

There were two thieves, Delora and Marston, the latter had been one of Giorgio’s most important partners during the former fight with The Guild, but now the man was needed. The thieves understood the stakes involved. Anders was still alive, and the news warmed Muldor’s heart.

Three other men stood in the room, including Styles and George, the man Muldor used for spying on the betting tents and arena. There was some news he had heard about and wanted George to confirm, but they would get to that later.

“Good work, Muldor,” Becket said and sat back at his chair. They all gathered around his desk. “Now we can threaten a shutdown of the marketplace if need be. If they don’t agree to our terms, we can fight them here at the docks and close down all trade.”

“What moves have our enemies made?” Muldor said. They had begun referring to Dollenger and Maggur as the “enemy” some days ago. Muldor didn’t like thinking of them as people. It was easier to send them to their deaths that way, to destroy them.

“Not many,” Becket said and sounded concerned. “Perhaps capturing you was their best move. Putting all this into motion… I dunno. I feel like we’ve gotten their best shot already, turning Cutter back to us was our best swing. We have the advantage.”

“It’s a mistake to believe that,” Marston said. The tall, intimidating man was right though Becket gave him a sour look. “The city council won’t be swayed by some embargo. They can bring the police in here and make you reopen. They can use the City Watch too, more than a match for the dock security, no offence.”

“None taken,” Muldor said. “And point well made. No, Master Becket, as much as I share in your positivity, there is work to be done, alliances to be forged, and information to be gained. George, what is the state of the arena? I have heard rumors.”

The simple looking man, one couldn’t pick him out of a crowd without really looking hard, shrugged his shoulders, and looked uncomfortable being there.

“Well, I think everyone here knows about Thruck coming back, who doesn’t, ya know? Anyways, he’s back and can’t be stopped, yeah, yeah, all that stuff. That’s the way it is. Oh, yeah, forgot, some new people are working with Derek and Desmond, some new guy no one knows. Don’t know his name, maybe I can get it, who can tell? Jerrod and his boys, the toughs they call ‘em, are working the crowd control every night. They got that place locked down pretty tight.”

Muldor thought it over for a moment. “I don’t think any of that concerns us for the moment. Continue monitoring the situation, George. No, the city council is our concern. Our goal is to discredit Master Raul and gain control of the City Watch. Ideas?”