How To Avoid Death On A Daily Basis: Book Three (16 page)

Despite my general poor attitude towards women, especially those around my own age, I don’t see females as inferior to males. In some cases, they are superior.

Men have a history of abusing women. Of taking advantage of them and forcing them to do things they don’t want to. But women have their own way of righting the balance. They may not be stronger or faster or be able to park cars in a perfectly reasonable parking space, but one thing is certainly to their advantage: they made us. And creators know their creations better than anyone.

The relationship between men and older women—not just their own mothers, but all mothers—is a complicated one. Doesn’t matter if it’s a loving, adoring mother or a cruel, vindictive one. You can’t treat them however you want. You can’t say, “Look, old woman, this is how it is and if you don’t like it, scram.” Try it. Enjoy the utter devastation as your psyche implodes from a simple look of disappointment.

The women marching towards us were of all different ages. Some carried babies. Some dragged toddlers behind them. Most were of an age where doing your hair and makeup before you go out was not so much of a priority. Am I saying some women let themselves go once they’re married and have kids? Of course not, I would never say something like that.

Corporal Ween and his goons watched with baffled looks as the women formed a circle around them. I had sent Little Chicken to gather the men’s families, but there were far too many women here. There had to be at least a hundred. They surrounded Ween and his men and pinned them down with very harsh glaring—a surprisingly effective containment technique. I could feel my balls shrinking and they weren’t even looking at me.

A figure stepped out from the crowd. She was probably the smallest woman there, definitely the oldest. Her hair was pure white and her face was heavy with wrinkles. A large mole sat on the side of her nose daring you to mention it. Her back was hunched and she hobbled forward using a crooked branch as a walking stick.

“What do you think you’re doing, Ween?” She had the voice of a forty-a-day smoker.

“Mama Ivy, I’m just doing my job. You all, you need to get back to your homes. You can’t be interfering with me performing my duties.” I think he was trying to make it sound like a threat, but it came out more like a nervous plea.

“Your duty, is it? Your duty to take these boys away from their families? I see, I see. And what about their duty to provide for their kin. How will they put food on the table if they’re off fighting ogres and goblins and what have you?”

“That’s… that’s not my concern. We’re fighting a war. There won’t be any tables to put food on if the monsters aren’t stopped.” He turned away from Granny Grimface and appealed to the crowd. “You... you should be proud of your boys for protecting this city. This city is your home. We need to fight to safeguard our home.”

“Oh, Ween,” said Mama Ivy. She seemed very tired and frail, barely managing to stay upright as she bent down, tottering with one hand gripping the stick, the leathery texture of her fingers almost matching the gnarled wood, to pick up a fist-sized rock lying on the ground. “We’re more than capable of protecting our home. Especially from men like you.”

A common insult among guys is to accuse one another of ‘throwing like a girl’. It is, of course, unfair to label all womankind as terrible throwers. It’s a way of suppressing an entire gender with casual jokes and put-downs and in that regard, it’s quite effective. Confidence greatly affects performance. I’d guess Mama Ivy had never been too bothered by mean words.

She didn’t throw like a girl. She didn’t even throw like a boy. She threw like a pitcher in the MLB. Once the rock left her hand, I didn’t see it again until it bounced off Ween’s forehead.

He staggered backwards, his eye darting around like he couldn’t tell where the blow had come from. He reached up and touched the blood pouring from the nasty gash.

The women all suddenly had rocks in their hands. Even the children, those who were big enough, had stones gripped in their tiny fists.

The men beside me shrank back. They were pale and their expressions were somewhere between horror and pity. Many of them looked away.

“We should go,” said Jenny, gulping.

She started to edge past me but I grabbed her by the arm. “No. We should stay and watch.”

She gave me a questioning look and then winced. I was holding her arm too tightly, but I didn’t let go. And she didn’t ask me to.

In hindsight, there were probably a number of ways the men inside that circle of rage could have escaped. Form a tight unit and punch a hole through the wall of women. Start beating everyone in sight and cause panic. Take a child hostage and threaten to do nasty thing if the crowd didn’t disperse. But they did none of those things.

Once the rocks started flying, only one of the carpenters tried to make a break for it, rushing headlong into the ranks of women. He was quickly swallowed up and ripped to pieces.

I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a stoning, but it’s far more gruesome than you can imagine. Some countries still use it as a form of punishment because those countries are run by sociopaths. Not even a person guilty of the worst crime deserves a death like that.

Why didn’t they fight back? Why didn’t they try to get away? When I came up with the idea to send for the families of the men trapped in the Pickled Gherkin, I thought it would shame Ween into backing off. Some industrial-grade nagging to put him in his place. I hadn’t expected this.

In the midst of it all stood Mama Ivy. Her face showed not one iota of sympathy. Her eyes remained on the men as they sank to their knees, as they dropped to the ground, as they begged for mercy. She wasn’t enjoying it. She wasn’t pleased with the outcome. She was just seeing the job through to the end.

She raised a withered, deformed finger and the rocks stopped flying. She walked, tilting from side to side like a duck with terrible arthritis, and prodded Ween’s prostrate body with her stick. He didn’t respond. She spat on him.

This was apparently the signal for everyone to go home. They all turned and walked back the way they had come. The men with us hurried to catch up. Mama Ivy was the last one. She waddled off, but then stopped and turned to look at me. Directly at me.

I did what anyone would in that situation. I pulled Jenny across so she was in front of me.

Now, you may think hiding behind a girl isn’t the act of a true hero, to which I would respond by suggesting you go fuck yourself. This little old lady had just orchestrated the execution of sixteen men, and she’d managed to keep them frozen in place to receive their punishment simply by staring at them. She made Medusa look like some bint with a funny haircut.

Mama Ivy pierced me with her gaze and my knees buckled. I would have fallen if I hadn’t held onto Jenny. Then she turned around and hobbled off.

“Did you just use me as a human shield?” said Jenny.

“What? No.” I let go of her. Behind us the door to the Pickled Gherkin was closed. In front of us were a bunch of bloody and tattered corpses.

“Can we go now?”

“Yes,” I said.

We walked through the empty, early morning streets.

“I don’t know why you wanted to watch that. Probably give me nightmares.”

“Good,” I said. “It should give you nightmares. That all happened because of you.”

She stopped. “That’s not very fair. It’s not like the alternative outcome was any better. People would have died either way. At least the ones who suffered deserved it.”

“And you’re fine with that, are you? You get to decide who lives and dies?”

“I’m not the one who summoned Lilith’s Army of the Damned.”

“Don’t try to shift the blame onto me,” I said. “You’re the one who stood on a table and started this. And I don’t give a shit about those guys lying back there. You’re right, they got what they deserved. But what about all those people you turned into killers today. Just because you had no idea what would happen, doesn’t mean you aren’t responsible. Do you think they’ll walk away from this unchanged? You think those kids throwing stones won’t be affected?”

Jenny looked down at the ground. “If you start thinking about all the possible outcomes like that, you’ll go mad.”

“Yes, it’s a lot easier if you don’t think about it. Don’t imagine that one of those kids will grow up, get married and then beat his wife to death when he finds out she slept with someone else because when he was a little boy, he learned that was how you got justice. Well, I do think about it. It’s all I ever fucking think about.”

I had got quite worked up and had to take a moment to collect myself.

“Every time I do something horrible to save my own neck, that’s what fills my mind. All the horrible possibilities I’ve created. The rest of you can go to sleep every night dreaming about rainbows and unicorns and whether you’ll get to see a flying horse tomorrow.” I pointed back the way we’d come. At the bodies in the street. “That’s what I dream about.”

Jenny took a step closer to me and reached out to grab my still-pointing arm. She gently pulled it back down.

“There is no right answer, Colin. There is no outcome where everyone walks away with a prize. All options are bad. All we can do is choose which is least terrible, because that’s what life is. You can’t choose options you aren’t given. I understand what happened today was because of me. Those dead men probably had wives and children, too. But I would still make the same call, because out of all the possible horrible choices I think it was the best one. And yes, it’s much easier to get involved when you don’t have to see the consequences, but it makes no difference. When I lie in my bed I’m not going to be thinking about the men who died, because what good would it do? You know what I’m going to dream about? I’m going to dream about flying horses, because now that you’ve put the thought in my head, I can’t stop thinking about it. Can we go and have some breakfast?”

She didn’t wait for an answer, she let go of my wrist and walked away from me. I stood watching her for a bit, and then I followed.

Neither of us were in a mood to rush back to our lodgings. We wandered through the empty streets like a couple taking an early morning stroll.

The corpses we’d left lying in the street, blood pooling around them, didn’t figure very much in my thoughts. Neither did the memory of sliding my hand inside Jenny’s underwear (although I certainly intended to have a long hard think about that later). What preoccupied my mind was what I would do next time Jenny decided to rush headlong towards danger.

She had every right to go around kicking wasp nests if she wanted to, but I didn’t particularly want to get stung. And yet, would I be able to back off and leave her to it? That’s what I should do, but part of me wanted her to get in trouble just so I could rescue her.  So I could be her hero.

Yes, I realise how idiotic that is. This is what happens when you start to develop feelings for a girl. Stupid shit.

What I needed to do was stop mooning over the pretty girl next to me and start working on a way to get out of this city.

It wasn’t a simple matter of leaving, we had to have somewhere to go. Preferably far away from people. But how would we survive? How would we make money? How would we eat? My stomach rumbled, suggesting I answer the last question first.

We found a bakery and bought some breakfast pastries. It was sweet, yet cheesy. No, not cheesecake. More like a grilled cheese sandwich with whipped cream. It wasn’t bad. Could have used some ketchup.

“What should we say to the others about last night?” asked Jenny through a mouthful of food.

“Nothing. It’ll only freak them out. I’m going to do my best to forget everything. Especially Mama Ivy.” I shuddered at the recollection of the cold stare she gave me before she left.

“I liked her,” said Jenny. “She seemed like a sweet old lady.”

“Are you insane?” It was hard to imagine we were talking about the same person. “Don’t you think it was strange how those men didn’t even try to escape? Once she locked eyes on them, they were done. She bent them to her will, crushed their souls and left them unable to even defend themselves. How is that sweet?”

“Oh,” said Jenny, completely ignoring the magnitude of malevolence I was describing, “do you think she’s some kind of witch?”

“Quite possibly. You should go see if she’s looking for an apprentice.”

Jenny smiled at me. “Careful. I might turn you into a frog.”

I shrugged. “I know some very happy frogs. It isn’t a bad life.”

Neither of us said much on the way to the inn. Perhaps we needed time to process the events of the last few hours and let them filter their way into the part of the brain that locks things up and puts them away.

By the time we got back, fatigue had started to set in. The manager was behind his desk, as usual. Drunk, as usual. Not that I’d ever seen him drinking, but the smell of alcohol was hard to miss. Maybe he had an intravenous drip attached to his leg that I couldn’t see.

A job where you could be wasted the whole time seemed very appealing. If you had no idea what was going on, even bad things wouldn’t affect you. But the thought only lasted for a second. I didn’t want to be detached from life, I wanted to be attached to a life that was enjoyable. Where do you find one of those?

These and other self-involved musings bounced around in my head as I walked up the stairs to the landing, where I was met by a scream.

It was a man’s scream. Not out of fear, or surprise, it was very definitely a scream of pain. And it came from Maurice and Claire’s room. It should be an indicator of just how distracted I was with all my
feelings
that my reaction was to immediately draw my sword and rush into their room. Clearly, I was not in my right mind.

The first thing I saw was the naked man on the bed. Well, maybe naked is too strong a word. He had no top on and was lying face down, not moving. It took me a second to realise it was Kizwat.

Standing over him, her hand covering her mouth, was Claire. And cowering in the corner, way on the other side of the room, was Maurice.

“What did you to him?” I asked Claire.

“I think he’s okay,” said Claire, not sounding very sure. “I don’t think he’s dead.” She leaned a bit closer. “He’s breathing. A bit.”

I sheathed my sword and approached the prone figure. A sheen of sweat covered his back, which rose and fell confirming that he was indeed still breathing. His eyes were closed.

“I think he just passed out from the pain,” said Claire. “I was working on his arm, trying to focus more on the physical therapy, like you said. Only, it turned out to be a lot harder to get any kind of improvement to the posture, so I gave it a bit of pull.”

“It was horrible,” said Maurice. “She put her knee in his back and nearly yanked his arm out of it’s socket. And then she… twisted.” His eyes were filled with the regret of having seen what can’t be unseen.

This was what I should have been like after the previous night’s events. The utter desolation of innocence lost and the realisation that the world is a dark and terrible place. Although, maybe you can only experience that after you get a girlfriend.

“His arm does look better, though,” said Claire. “Doesn’t it?”

I checked Kizwat’s arm. The elbow was straight and the wrist now pointed in the normal direction. The shoulder still looked a bit misaligned, so I placed my hands on it and after a few seconds there was a click and the awkward-looking ridge flattened.

Kizwat groaned but didn’t wake.

“I think that’s fine,” I said. “You did good. The more painful and unpleasant he found it, the less likely he is to consider it some kind of miracle. Nice work.”

Claire looked over at Maurice, a big smile on her face. Maurice gave me the impression he wouldn’t be asking for a back rub any time soon.

“Where have you two been?” she asked me.

I looked at Jenny, who looked back at me and shrugged.

“It’s a long story. What happened to Flossie and Dudley? Everything okay?”

“I should say so,” said Maurice. “Bedsprings were creaking all night.”

An image flashed in my mind, which I quickly pushed into the compartment of my brain containing the trauma-inducing moments of my life. It was getting quite full.

“We also have something very important to tell you,” said Claire. She signalled Maurice to come closer, which he did. Slowly.

I watched them prepare themselves. This couldn’t be good.

“We were talking to Kizwat,” said Claire, “about his hammer and all that stuff, and we think there’s a way of finding the spike-thing of yours with absolutely no risk.”

“No risk,” echoed Maurice. The both looked at me expectantly.

I nodded. “Great. Anyway, I need to get some sleep. I’ll see you later.” I turned and headed for the door.

“Hey!”

I’d almost made it out, too. I stopped and turned around.

“You’re supposed to ask us what we know and so on.” She rolled her hand to suggest the so on part. “Aren’t you curious?”

“It doesn’t matter where the spike is. We aren’t going to get involved.”

“But there’s no risk!”

“No risk,” echoed Maurice.

“There’s no such thing as no risk. There’s always a risk. If you can’t think of any, that means it’s surprise risk, the riskiest risk of all.”

“Ugh, I don’t even know what that means,” said Claire, rolling her eyes. “At least hear us out. Even if you don’t like it, knowledge is power, right? We have information.”

She had a point. “Okay. What?”

Claire immediately went into presentation mode. “As you know, the Sheaf houses all the guild offices. Every guild in the city is located in that one building. It goes down eight floors, and right at the bottom is a vault.”

“Are you planning a heist? Because it sounds like you’re planning a heist.”

“No,” said Claire. “Just listen. The vault is called the Guild Treasury, and all the guilds keep their valuable stuff in there.”

“Still sounds like a heist.”

“No. Be quiet. There is one person in charge of the Treasury, and his name is God.”

I was about to make an interjection, but Claire held up a hand.

“He isn’t a god, that’s just his name. I don’t know why. Anyway, he is trusted by all the guilds and there are two things special about him. First, he’s a Visitor, like us. Kizwat doesn’t know exactly how long ago he arrived, but it’s been a while. And the other thing is his special ability. He’s a truth detector.”

“What, you mean he has a lie detector?”

“No,” said Claire. “Not a lie detector, a truth detector. A lie detector can tell when you’re lying, but if you believe what you’re saying, even if it’s not true, you aren’t lying so you’ll pass. A truth detector can tell when you believe something that isn’t true.”

“How is that possible?” I said, incredulous.

Claire shrugged. “How can you heal people, or make flames come out of your hand.”

She was right, normal logic didn’t really apply. And if it was some kind of magic ability, that certainly made this God guy more interesting, even with the ridiculously pompous moniker.

“Wait,” said Jenny, “you can make flames come out of your hand?” I’d forgotten she’d never seen me do that. “Is there any other stuff I don’t know about?”

“Yes,” I said. She waited for me to continue, but I didn’t. “How does knowing about this guy change anything?”

“Ah,” said Claire smugly. “Visitors, it turns out, are allowed to meet with God as a courtesy. I’m not sure why, he just likes to hear about what’s going on back home or something. And since we’re Visitors…” She spread out her hands and raised her eyebrows like she’d just performed a magic trick. “All we need to do is tell him about the spike, he’ll know we’re telling the truth, and chances are if it’s anywhere, it’s in his vault.”

“And you think he’s just going to give it to us?”

“I don’t know,” said Claire, “but it’s worth a try, isn’t it?”
“I don’t think you fully understand what the words ‘no risk’ actually mean.”

“I haven’t got to that part yet,” said Claire. “Since they’ve already seen you with Kizwat at the Sheaf, it’s probably best for you not to come with us.”

It took me a second to understand what she’d said, and I still didn’t believe it. “What?”

“You see? It’s no risk for you. Because you won’t be there.”

I was stunned. “You want to do this by yourselves? Without me?”

Claire nodded

“It’s just recon,” said Maurice. “We go in, talk to God. If he doesn’t know anything, we haven’t lost anything.”

The idea of them doing this by themselves did hold a certain appeal. The more independence from me they gained, the better. And if I really wanted to rid myself of the urge to play hero, the best way to do it was not be there.

“Okay,” I said. “You should take Flossie and Dud, too. And Jenny. You should all go.”

“Really?” said Claire, buoyed by my faith in them. “You think we can do it?”

“Sure, but first we’ll need to visit the Municipal Directory.”

Claire nodded even more enthusiastically. “Okay. What stuff do we need to get out?”

“Nothing. I want you to make me a co-signer on all your accounts. That way, when you don’t come back, I get to keep your stuff.”