Tales of the Old World (25 page)

“So tell me, monsieurs,” the Harbour Master asked, watching their expressions
with a hungry intensity. “What do you make of that?”

The two men leant forward to examine the grisly trophy. When Florin realised
what it was a jolt of adrenaline shot through him. The last time he had seen one
of these cursed things it had almost been the death of him. Of all of them.

Feeling the Harbour Master’s eyes on him he bit down on his excitement and
arranged his features into a careful nonchalance. Then he made a show of
examining the head.

Although it was almost the same size as a human’s, there could be no doubt
that it was from a much more exotic victim. Even in the dim light of the tavern
the scales that covered it gleamed, and the flat iron shape of the skull beneath
suggested something serpentine or aquatic.

“I never thought I’d see one of these bastards again,” Lorenzo swore
suddenly.

Florin nudged him, but it was too late. The Harbour Master was looking at
them with the expression of a weasel who has found a pair of snared rabbits.

He licked his lips. “So you
do
know what this thing is.”

It was more statement than question, and Florin had no choice but to nod.

“Yes,” he said and, ignoring the queasiness in his stomach, he peeled one of
the scaly eyelids open. The orb within stared back at him. The deep yellow of
the alien eye was already starting to cloud, which was some relief. Florin
squared his jaw and prised open the thing’s mouth. Its needle teeth were just as
sharp as he remembered.

“Well?” demanded the Harbour Master, who was not used to being kept waiting.
“What is it?”

Florin dragged the back of his hand across his brow and shrugged.

“I don’t know if they have a name. But we did come across something like them
in Lustria. Vicious things they were. Vicious and damned near invisible.”

“So the stories about you are true,” the Harbour Master said.

“Not all of them,” Florin and Lorenzo said in perfect, paranoid harmony.

The Harbour Master smiled.

“Oh, don’t worry,” he said with a conspiratorial wink. “I’m not an outraged
father. I’m here purely in my official capacity. The thing is, these things have
infested the area around the warehouses by the main harbour. We first started
noticing them a couple of months ago, and since then they’ve been nothing but
trouble. They’ve been destroying stock, ruining thatch, killing porters. I lost
two myself, which wouldn’t be so bad if the rest hadn’t used it as an excuse to
demand more wages.”

The Harbour Master frowned at the injustice of it all, then continued.

“And then yesterday, things got even worse. The things have actually dared to
kill one of the merchants. You know the candle importer, old ‘Nine Bellies’
Flangei? He was taken whilst he was inspecting his stock. Now all of his fellows
are complaining. I hear some of them are even thinking about withholding their
anchorage contributions. It would never happen, of course, but all the same they
need reassurance. And as you can guess, Monsieur d’Artaud there aren’t many
people who can reassure men who’ve seen what these things can do.”

Florin nodded with false sympathy.

“I don’t see how they could have reached Bretonnia from Lustria, though.” He
frowned. “I mean, I can assure you that we didn’t bring any back. Did we,
Lorenzo?”

“Course not,” Lorenzo replied. “They’re bad enough a thousand leagues distant
let alone on our own doorstep.”

“Yes, I know none were on your ship’s manifest.” The Harbour Master waved a
soothing hand. “I’ve already checked. But however these things got here, get
here they did. So now we need somebody qualified to hunt them down and eradicate
them. My men are excellent soldiers, but they lack expertise.”

“You want us to do it?” Florin cast a doubtful eye towards the monster’s
severed head. It glared up at him, a challenge still gleaming in its dead eye.

“That’s right,” the Harbour Master said. “Who better to reassure the
merchants and deal with these vermin than the man who knows them best, Captain
Florin d’Artaud, hero of Lustria?”

He beamed with the happy enthusiasm of a man who has found the perfect
solution.

Florin fidgeted, torn between pride and sincerity. For once, sincerity won
out. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I really don’t know anything about these
creatures. In fact, the man who killed this one probably knows more than me.”

“Not anymore. He’s dead. But anyway, you’re too modest, Monsieur d’Artaud.
Your tavern is called the Lizard’s Head.”

“Yes, but…”

“And you admit to knowing what these things are?”

“I wouldn’t say admit…”

“And to knowing their provenance.”

“What does provenance…?”

“Good. So all you have to do is to decide how best the worried merchants of
Bordeleaux should view your relationship with these vermin. As the man who will
earn a fine bounty for their extermination. Or as the man who has some other
connection with them.”

The three men sat in contemplative silence. The Harbour Master didn’t bother
to enunciate the threat any further. He didn’t need to.

“Well, it would be quite an interesting hunt,” Florin suggested, a smile
starting to play across his face.

“Interesting.” Lorenzo’s voice was full of disgust. “Lethal more like.”

“That’s all settled, then,” the Harbour Master said, getting to his feet. “We
can stop wondering about how these things followed you back from Lustria, and
start paying you a crown a head. Now, if you will excuse me, I have other
business to be about. If you would like to go to the customs house at dawn, I’ll
get my clerk to show you what happened to poor old Nine Bellies.”

“You mean that you aren’t going to give me your men?” Florin asked, casting
an eye over the polished warriors of the Harbour Master’s entourage. They stood
as still as stone, each man a part of a perfect formation.

“Gods no,” the Harbour Master chuckled. “These are the finest warriors in
Bordeleaux. Apart from our knightly masters, of course.” He paused to glance
over his shoulder before continuing. “In any case, they have other fish to fry.
Well, good day to you.”

A moment later Florin and Lorenzo were alone in their tavern. They glared at
the lizardine head with the concentration of fortunetellers forced to share a
single crystal ball.

“At least we won’t be bored,” said Florin.

Lorenzo just spat.

The next morning was grey and damp. Sunrise had been lost beneath a warm fog
that was as wet as rain, and beneath his mail Lorenzo’s tunic was soon as damp
as his spirits. He grumbled and cursed as he trudged along behind Florin, his
head bowed and his shoulders up around his ears.

Florin, on the other hand, looked like a man on his way to a day at the
races. Despite the sodden humidity of the streets the last hours had seen his
spirits rising like mercury in a broken thermometer.

It was the promise of action that did it. That and the possibility of
bloodshed. It was always the way, he thought. Life was never better than when
lived in the glorious terror of mortal risk, never sweeter than when Morr
himself followed in your shadow.

Florin grinned and looked back towards Lorenzo. “Lizards, hey? Should be just
like the good old days.”

Lorenzo shot him a sour look. “Not unless you want to starve yourself and
then shove some leeches down your breeches.”

Florin laughed uproariously and slapped Lorenzo on the back.

“I hate it when you’re in a good mood,” the older man grumbled.

“Why?”

“Because somebody always ends up getting hurt.”

“Well then.” The humour bled from Florin’s face to leave a wolfs grin of
anticipation. “Let’s make sure it isn’t us. You remember what those things did
in Lustria. Imagine if they start taking over the city. Our city.”

“I’m sure your civic conscience does you credit,” Lorenzo snorted. “But why
couldn’t we have bought a window for a chapel instead? Or had a sewer dug? Or
made a donation to the priestesses of Shallya? Or…”

“Look, there’s the customs house,” Florin interrupted. Lorenzo looked up to
see the great granite blockhouse looming out of the mist ahead. Officially,
being no more than a commoner’s building, it wasn’t a fortress. It had no
battlements, no drawbridge, no turrets or murder holes or crenellations.

What it did have were massively thick walls and a battery of cannons on the
reinforced roof.

“Ever seen the gunners practise a volley from there?” Florin asked. Lorenzo
shook his head.

“No. Can’t see the Harbour Master wasting any black powder either. Anyway, I
don’t think that the cannons are supposed to exist. Our noble masters might not
like it.”

Florin grunted with shared contempt, and looked around. The streets were
becoming busier the closer to the docks they came, although nobody seemed to be
paying them much attention.

“I hear that in l’Anguille some of the merchants are talking about changing
all that. You know that in Marienburg they’re ruled by the most able men in the
city, not by aristocrats? Well, in l’Anguille… never mind.” He broke off as a
man hailed them through the crowd that had gathered around the customs house.

“Monsieur d’Artaud?”

“And who might be asking?”

“I’m Couraine,” the man said as he hurried forward. “Apprentice to the
undersecretary of the Harbour Master’s office.”

“You’re a clerk?”

“Yes,” Couraine said as he gawped at Florin. “At least, almost. I still
haven’t finished my apprenticeship.”

Florin could well believe it. Couraine was barely old enough to grow a beard,
and he was as pale and skinny as a shaved rat. He had the face of one too,
pinched and bucktoothed. But what really made him stand out amongst the
leather-skinned bruisers who crowded around the customs house was that he was
unarmed. Whereas other men bristled with cutlasses and boathooks and daggers,
the only thing the apprentice carried was a massive leather-bound ledger.

“So,” Florin said, slapping him on a bony shoulder. “You’re to be our guide.”

Couraine swallowed nervously.

“Oh no,” he stuttered. “I’m just going to show you where the attacks have
taken place.”

Florin looked at Lorenzo, who rolled his eyes.

“Oh, and the body of Monsieur Flangei. My master said you might want to take
a look. Do you?”

“Yes. Where is it?”

“If you’d just follow me, monsieur,” Couraine said, and scuttled back towards
the customs house. Florin and Lorenzo followed him through the waiting merchants
and captains, past the guards at the entrance, and into the echoing hall beyond.
Even now, in the height of summer, it was cool inside the granite-built
fortress.

“Down here,” Couraine called back over his shoulder, and disappeared down a
flight of stairs. They followed him past the last slitted window and into the
darkness of the cellars. Couraine paused to take an oil lamp from a cubby hole.
He lit it, and looked back at his two charges, the three men’s faces now bathed
in a warm, butter yellow glow.

“We’re only allowed to use one lamp per party,” Couraine apologised in the
gloom. “My master says that it is all we need. Also,” he took a deep breath, and
narrowed his eyes in concentration, “any extra expenditure can only lead to an
increase in harbour duties, which would damage the great trading tradition of
our city.”

Lorenzo snorted, and Couraine looked at him nervously.

“You said that very well, Monsieur Couraine,” Florin soothed him. “Now, let’s
take a look at this body, shall we?”

“Yes. Yes, of course.” The apprentice looked at him gratefully, and led the
way into the darkness. “We’ve kept it in this room here.”

As soon as Couraine opened the door the smell hit them. Even to men used to
living amongst the constant stink of Bordeleaux the odour of the rotting corpse
was eye-watering. The horrible sweetness of it clung to the back of their
palates and turned their stomachs.

“We brought him in here two days ago,” Couraine explained, his features
wrinkling with disgust. Reluctantly he led the way through a long, empty room
towards the covered remains. The flies that buzzed above the blanket looked
horribly plump.

They were half way down the room when the clerk staggered to a halt. He
swallowed twice, pressed one hand to his stomach, and wretched. Florin looked at
him. Even in the yellow lamplight he looked as white as wax.

“Let me take the lamp,” he said, taking it from the cold sweat of Couraine’s
trembling fingers. “And perhaps you could do me a favour and wait outside the
door? Make sure we aren’t disturbed.”

“Yes. Yes, of course, monsieur,” Couraine said gratefully, and fled back out
of the room.

Florin took the lamp from him and marched forward to the stinking bundle. The
flame flickered into new colours beneath the corpse gas. Without giving himself
time to think, Florin knelt down beside the body and pulled the blanket off it.

“Oh, sweet Manann,” Lorenzo whispered, his eyes as wide as copper coins in
the lamplight.

Florin said nothing. He just gagged as he stumbled back from the thing. When
he was back on his feet he pulled the hem of his tunic up over his mouth and
exchanged a horrified glance with Lorenzo.

Then he swallowed, fixed his features into a look of bravado, and forced
himself to kneel down again to examine the corpse.

“I see why Couraine was so jumpy,” he said, drawing a dagger from his boot
and prodding the putrefying mass before him. Maggots writhed enthusiastically
around the point of the blade, and Florin’s stomach rolled.

“Do you think that happened after he was dead?” Lorenzo asked, peering over
Florin’s shoulder.

“What?” Florin asked, his voice a squeak.

“The way that the body… the way he was flayed.”

“Before and after,” Florin decided. “Look at the way some of the teeth marks
jump. Looks like he was moving while they were tearing slivers off.”