He could hardly believe a man’s flesh could go from healthy
to this blackened, unholy state so rapidly, but he had seen it with his own
eyes, had watched it crawl across the preacher’s body like a hungry shadow. And
this girl, Cassidy, claimed it was something condoned, maybe even commanded, by
the old city families, which meant even the Lords and ministers might be
complicit.
No, that couldn’t be true. The High religion, his religion, preached peace. With
realism, sure, you needed a guard to keep unruly elements in check, to protect
a city from the outlands and worse. And the guard could attract some bullies
into its ranks, a necessary evil, but poisoners and assassins? Surely not.
Unless something was rotten in Ironhaven. He recalled the
dead man’s final, rasping words, unheard by the others as he slipped Jacob a
slender key.
“The inner sanctum, the unholy truth...”
A truth that might have cost this man his life.
A set-up, Cassidy had suggested, and maybe she was
right, but maybe someone wanted this man silenced, too. Two scrub grouse with
one bullet. He would keep that to himself for now.
“Whatever the reason,” he interrupted the girls, “They're
not going to hang around for long if they're looking to catch us poor fools in
the act.”
Cassidy looked indignant. “Who are you calling a fool?”
“He’s got a point,” Frida cut in. “We should get rid of the
body, and fast.”
“Obviously.”
Jacob took a deep breath, and wished he hadn't, the air was
rank. He prayed the day would get no worse.
Cassidy smiled at him, “You’re a big man, Jacob. Grab his
legs.”
He grimaced.
“Is that going to work?” Frida pointed to where the flesh
had torn at the shoulder joint. “I don’t think he can take it.”
Jacob balked at the thought of the man’s flesh parting and
tearing as they lifted. That soft, shredding sound from earlier replayed itself
in his mind.
“We’ll wrap him back up.” Cassidy nudged the preacher’s open
robes with her foot, “Pick him up by his robes.”
Frida looked revolted, but she nodded. None of them liked
it, but it had to be done.
“So where are we taking it?”
Cassidy thought for a moment. “I know a place. We can take
the back streets. With a pinch of Earth-given luck everyone will be distracted
by the caravan.”
Jacob gritted his teeth. He rolled his neck and shoulders,
stretched and squared up with the corpse. All procrastination of course,
delaying the vile inevitability of the task. But as he was about to reach for
the preacher’s robes there was a frantic knocking at the door, and an
out-of-breath voice.
“Hey. Let me in.”
Cassidy looked up, startled. “Who?”
Jacob thought he recognised the strange accent. “The
Darklander girl?”
Cassidy slipped the bolt and the wild girl dived in, shoving
the door shut behind her.
“You gotta-” She clamped a hand over her mouth and choked at
the putrid stench in the room. She pointed at the corpse.
“Urgh. He looks like Death’s own bitch.”
“We know.” Jacob said.
“You gotta move him.”
“We know,” Cassidy replied, “You came back to tell us that?”
“No. Saw some big men, armed men, stalking the caravan. All
seriousness and business. Asking questions ‘bout a preacher.”
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I somehow missed the last couple weeks of this, but have caught up. The pacing is, as always, excellent. Sounds like the Darklander girl is on their side… but what is it she needs to trade for?
ReplyDeleteVerification word: dismess (as in, what you could now call the preacher)
Interesting. I think Jacob is my favourite and I wonder if that's partly due to the 'bonus' story you posted up on your other site. He feels more rounded to me than the others at this point.
ReplyDeleteLove the phrase: "He looks like Death's own bitch" btw.
Ha ha, thank you, FAR, seems the verification bot has been playing word games. ;)
ReplyDeleteAnd thanks, Pete. =)
We've got four characters fighting for screen time, and you'll get to know the others as we go along, too. =)