Kultus (20 page)

Within seconds the Apothecary was at his side bearing salve, bandages and a needle and thread.

‘How did you know I was behind you?’ Blaklok asked as the Apothecary went to work.

‘The Deacon mentioned you were waiting in the shadows. You can’t hide anything from that one.’

‘And you still left your skylight unlocked?’

‘How else were you supposed to get in? I know you never use the front door like normal people.’ He smiled at Blaklok, his brown teeth just visible beneath the curly hair of his beard. ‘Unlike the rest of the guttersnipes in this foul city, I’m not afraid of you, Thaddeus Blaklok.’

Thaddeus almost returned the smile. It was a novelty to hear someone say that. It made such a change from the usual begging and screaming he had to endure.

‘So, rumour has it there’s a real life demon on the loose. That wouldn’t have anything to do with you, would it?’

‘No,’ Blaklok replied. ‘That’s down to a bunch of part-timers who got in over their heads. But I suppose I’m the one who’ll have to sort out the shit.’

‘As always, Thaddeus, as always. I take it the demon’s responsible for most of this?’ The Apothecary waved his hand over Blaklok’s battered body.

‘Some of it. The rest is just general wear and tear.’

‘Quite. I’ve not seen you look this bad since the Clockwork Rebellion.’

‘This is nothing compared to that. This is–’ He suddenly winced as the Apothecary dabbed at his burned palms with a piece of moist gauze. ‘Before you do any more, you should know: I can’t afford to pay.’

‘Well, that would normally be a problem,’ said the Apothecary, not pausing in his labours. ‘But your account has already been settled.’

‘By who?’ asked Blaklok, but then he remembered his benefactors had their hands in all sorts of pies. ‘Never mind. I think I know who you’re talking about.’

‘Well, if you’d care to enlighten me I’d much appreciate it. Shadowy figures giving me coin just in case you show up isn’t the way I would normally expect business to be conducted. But the settlement of account was most generous, so I guess I shouldn’t complain.’

The Apothecary moved to Blaklok’s face, pausing, as though he didn’t really know where to start. After placing a slab of cold meat on one of Blaklok’s black eyes, he began to poke at the burns around his lips.

‘Hellfire residue. You
have
been in the wars,’ he said, picking at the ripe scabs with a pair of tweezers. ‘And here I was thinking you’d left all this behind you.’

‘I had,’ said Thaddeus. ‘But circumstances change.’

‘Indeed they do. But don’t you ever wish you’d stayed gone? You had an out and you took it. Not many would come back to this dump.’

‘As I said, circumstances change.’ Blaklok didn’t try to mask his annoyance, and the Apothecary duly halted his inquisition.

The pair continued in silence, with Blaklok reclining further into the leather seat to allow the Apothecary to administer his healing touch. Perhaps it was the smell of the healing salves or the comfort of knowing he was on neutral ground, but soon the pull of being stitched and the ache of having bandages applied to his cuts and scrapes faded, and Blaklok gave himself over to the solace of sleep.

Blaklok didn’t often dream.

When he did so he found himself plagued by night terrors – never more ferocious than those he faced in the waking hours – but terrors nonetheless. For this reason he had mostly managed to filter dreams from his sleep altogether, but on this occasion he dreamed an old and long forgotten dream.

He was happy.

The sky was not filled with smog and the stench of garbage. There was no cacophony assailing his ears. The clamour of unwashed, ungrateful souls did not surround him. There was no forest of concrete and pathways of stone pressing in on him from all sides.

He was free.

Birds twittered. Green grass caressed his toes. The sun was on his face.

Of course, he knew this was a dream, but that knowledge did not impair its lucidity.

They were there, just beyond his vision. The three of them, standing where he could only just see them, tantalisingly out of reach.

He tried to walk to them but could not move. He reached out a hand but they did not see.

Then he began to focus, his vision fighting through the blur. In seconds the haze was gone, their faces clarified and he saw them standing there – red and ruined.

He screamed.

Blaklok’s eyes were open but the room was in darkness. A cool sweat had set itself around his neck and down his spine, and it made a soft peeling sound as he lifted himself from the reclining leather chair.

It took his eyes some seconds to adjust to the gloom. He moved through the dark, searching for any sight or sound, but there was nothing but a dim glow coming from the adjoining chamber.

Inside, a potbelly stove still shed some light and warmth as the last of its embers burned down, and beside it was the Apothecary, asleep in a battered armchair.

Thaddeus was unsure whether he should just slip away in the night. The old man had been paid, after all. But then he had done his work so well. Blaklok felt invigorated, his wounds stitched and bound, his bruises having lost their swell. Maybe he would stay and give his thanks when the Apothecary awoke.

Then he noticed something from the corner of his eye – an adjoining room he hadn’t noticed before. Closer inspection revealed it was a hidden door left half open.

He crept up silently and pulled the door back gently, relieved that the hinges did not creak. When he had made enough of a gap he stepped inside. A dim gaslight burned in one corner and there was a sound of something bubbling, like a boiling kettle, emanating from a recess.

Blaklok moved further inside, straining to see in the darkness. At the far end of the room was a metal tank, and Blaklok could tell this was where the sound was coming from. He moved closer, stooping to peer in the tank and suddenly stopped. Inside was a human arm, floating in some form of bubbling liquid.

Weird indeed, thought Thaddeus, but perhaps not the weirdest thing in the Apothecary’s rooms, if he chose to investigate further.

As he turned to leave he was sure he saw the fingers of the arm suddenly twitch. It made him stop dead, but before he could look again, the Apothecary’s voice filled the room.

‘Inquisitive as ever, Thaddeus.’ Blaklok could only nod. ‘I suppose you want to know–’

‘I know not to stick my beak in where it’s not wanted,’ he replied, walking from the room and past the Apothecary. It didn’t do to pry unless the job called for it, and this was neutral ground, everyone knew it. ‘I’ll be off now. Got appointments to keep, you know how it is.’

‘Indeed I do, young Thaddeus.’

Blaklok made for the door, but stopped on the way. His eyes were drawn to two small objects on a shelf. He recognised them from times past – times when objects like that had been in common use. Going by recent events, they might come in handy again.

‘Mind if I take these?’ Thaddeus said, motioning to the shelf.

The Apothecary gave a shrug. ‘Feel free. Your account more than covers it.’

Blaklok nodded his thanks, and carefully placed the items in his pockets. He would have to find a safer way of carrying them later, but for now, just having them to hand was safeguard enough.

‘Not leaving by the skylight?’ the Apothecary asked, as Thaddeus began to unbolt the front door.

‘Don’t think that’s necessary now,’ said Blaklok.

He opened the door and strolled off into the night.

A ROMANTIC

INTERLUDE

It had never felt such pain before.

When last it had trodden this plane of men they had not borne such weapons. The sting of their fire belchers still tore at its flesh, leaving welts that were slow to heal. These creatures were meant to be its chattel, not to stand against it with such venom and fury.

Valac knew that it was weak, and would remain so until it had consumed of the flesh enough to build its strength, but that did not stop the rage inside.

These men had grown bold in its absence. They dared to attack it, instead of prostrating themselves at its feet and begging to be consumed so that it could thrive.

The demon moved silently through the maze of underground tunnels. It didn’t know where it was or what its next move would be but, for now, rest was the only priority. When it could walk no more it sank to its haunches in the muck and filth.

It was cold here, and dark.

Valac hated the dark; it shed no light on its magnificence.

It had been dark in the Pit, and the demon had hated that, and it pained it to have to hide in the shadows now that it was free. It yearned to be out, basking in the light, feeling the radiance of the chattel as they worshipped it.

Valac yearned to be exalted.

After millennia in the Pit it was all it desired. But for now it would have to hide down here in the shadows until its strength returned.

It lifted a hand to its head in the dark and felt the horn at its brow. It was tender to touch. The man-brute had hurt Valac – a mere man had the audacity to cause it pain. There would be a reckoning for this, and soon, but for now there had to be healing.

In the dark, alone and in agony, the great demon began to weep tears of mercury from eyes of burning coal. They splashed down and sizzled in the muddy water that submerged its hoofed feet, then ran away across the surface in silvery rivulets.

For hours the beast healed and wept in the dark, planning its vengeance and growing stronger. Soon it would need sustenance, and then the men of this place would know true terror, and Valac would feast and the men would worship at its feet.

There was a sudden sound.

It grew closer, and Valac pressed itself into the recesses of the tunnel hoping to catch the interlopers unawares. As the intruders drew nearer, Valac realised there was more than one of them. Its jaws began to drip in anticipation of the feast, and it could only hope to be quick enough to catch them all before they fled in terror.

Something glinted up ahead, a glimmer of gold in the dark.

As Valac watched, robed figures appeared, their faces wan and pale, frightened but determined as they moved through the tunnel.

It recognised them – these were the idolaters who had summoned it here. They were the real reason for its current suffering.

Valac stood, filling the tunnel, ready to leap among them and sunder them apart, but despite the terrified looks on their faces, the robed chattel did not flee. Instead, one of them walked forward, dropping to his knees in the filth at Valac’s feet.

‘We beseech thee, our President. Please, what have we done to anger you so?’

It was quite admirable that the weak fleshed chattel had the resources and guile to track it down. They must be cleverer than Valac thought. Perhaps it had been rash to begin feasting on them so soon, at least without allowing them to prostrate themselves at its feet first.

‘I am Trajian Arkwright,’ the chattel continued. ‘Humblest and most loyal of your servants.’

‘No, that is I, almighty President,’ said another of the weak-fleshed, dropping to his knees beside the first. ‘Please, give us your divine guidance that we may serve your aims.’

Soon they had all prostrated themselves, and Valac began to feel a little better. Maybe these were worthwhile peons after all.

Then again, Valac
was
ravenous.

It reached down, grasping the one that called itself Trajian in both its huge clawed hands, lifting his head into its mouth. The chattel screamed as jaws bit down, instantly falling silent as the head was bitten off and swallowed whole.

The rest were thrown into a panic, fighting each other to escape. Valac was in half a mind to pursue them, but in truth it was done with these worthless minions.

Besides, it had larger game to hunt.

The headless corpse it held in its hands bore the stench of another of the weak-flesh. It smelled faintly of the man-brute that had evaded Valac; the hulking chunk of pink skin that had wrenched at Valac’s horn and consumed his breath in an instant. This was the one Valac would have, and soon, if there were any justice on this plane.

Eagerly, Valac consumed the rest of the body, gold robes and all, and licked its sodden lips in satisfaction.

As it prepared to leave it saw another of its worthless minions cowering on the ground. Suddenly, Valac felt the dangling flesh between its legs stirring. It had been millennia since it had indulged in carnal delights with the weak-fleshed. Despite its eagerness to hunt and feed further, Valac decided it would sate its other urges first.

The chattel squealed and struggled as Valac picked it up, but the resistance only served to arouse it further, pumping molten ichor through its veins until the phallus between its legs had grown vast. The squealing grew more urgent as it pressed itself into the writhing creature again and again. Within seconds Valac had spent its lust and spewed its demon seed, and the subject of its advances was still and limp. The President threw the spent flesh to the ground and smiled.

How it would enjoy indulging itself on the man-brute. That one would feel him for hours, again and again as it satisfied itself; spurting its seed a dozen times before it was finished.

There would be a reckoning, all right. The man-brute had better prepare himself for that!

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

As ever, the Apothecary had done exemplary work. Thaddeus flexed the fingers and one stump of his left hand, happy that it no longer throbbed. He could still feel the tip of his little finger, even though it was absent, but the fact that the wound was neatly stitched, covered in a pain-numbing balm and didn’t stink anymore was almost as good.

Now all he had to worry about was retrieving the Key of Lunos from a bunch of skin-changing demon worshippers whilst avoiding the attentions of the Judicature and a Chamber of the Cistern. He also had to find President Valac and banish it back to the Pit before it could reap any more harm among the innocents of the Manufactory – though actually finding innocents in the Manufactory might well have been a harder task.