The strange side of midn.., p.18
The Strange Side of Midnight, page 18
Griselda led them through the opening and stepped into a room devoid of furniture. To leave her hands free to work the scattergun she pulled from her wonderous bag, she propped her staff in the saddle with the lantern hanging just past Crowe’s head to light their way. She passed Ellie the pistol and crossed to the far exit.
They entered a corridor lined with doorways. A buzzing produced by things unseen pricked up the dogs’ ears. Worried they might be injured by a sudden attack in the confined space, Ellie bade Satan and Lucifer to guard their rear. Cautiously, and with senses on high alert, they made their way along the corridor.
Apart from a few items of wood and stone furniture, including some extremely uncomfortable looking and strange shaped stone chairs, and foliage encroaching through openings, the first three rooms were empty, the fourth was where the majority of the buzzing sounds came from.
Griselda and Ellie cautiously peered around the edge of the doorway and stared at the source of the buzzing. A pulsating growth situated in a corner filled a third of the room. Crawling over it was a species of winged insects they hadn’t seen before, which in this strange world shouldn’t have been as much as a surprise as it was. The long, thin bodies of the mouse-sized creatures ended with a tail curled like a scorpion’s and tipped with a wicked slender sting half the length of its torso. Two feelers protruding out between its large orange eyes wavered in the air clicking the crab-like claw each was tipped with. The elongated snout was all mouth formed of four toothless jaw sections and a long black tongue. Their eyes flicked to the insects flying out the single window and others returning with scraps of meaty spoils from successful hunts. The severed limbs and other body parts of their small victims were carried into the nest to feed those within.
“What is it?” whispered Crowe, wondering what had caused them to linger at the doorway.
Griselda leaned nearer to Crowe and whispered her reply. “Insects you don’t want to mess with. If we keep out of their way, hopefully, they will ignore us.”
Crowe glanced into the room as he passed. When Griselda had mentioned insects, he had been relieved, nothing that couldn’t be swatted away if need be. Now seeing their red and yellow striped bodies and the long stings they sported, which he thought would be a hundred times more painful than a wasp’s, and its venom probably deadly, he changed his mind. There must be thousands living in the massive nest. He hurried past and almost bumped into Griselda who had stopped to gaze up a flight of stone steps.
“We go up,” she whispered.
Though Crowe dreaded hauling his tired body up the stairs, he nodded.
Ignoring the corridors that stretched off from each landing where the stairs changed direction, they headed through the hallway on the top floor and entered the room at its end. Window openings in two walls looked over the landscape below. One looked over the swamp they had recently passed and the other on the route they had yet to travel, but a tall tree growing out from the hillside the building was built against, blocked the view.
Griselda pulled her staff from the saddle and propped it against the wall by the doorway. “Crowe, get some rest. Sleep if you can as I doubt our journey tomorrow will be any less strenuous than it was today.”
Crowe was glad of the opportunity. He laid down along one wall and was so exhausted he fell asleep almost immediately.
Griselda crossed to Ellie, who had perched in the window. “I’ll take first watch while you and the dogs rest. I’ll swap with you in three hours, but we’ll let Crowe rest; he has a big day tomorrow.”
Ellie nodded knowingly. “We set off at dawn then?”
“Yes, we need to get through the Underwurld before the morrow’s night falls or we might not be able to complete our mission before the faeries begin their invasion.”
Knowing what dwelt there, Ellie wasn’t sure they would make it through at all, but also aware they had to risk it, she kept her doubts to herself and snuggled between the two dogs sleeping beside Crowe.
Griselda crossed to the doorway, turned the lantern down to a soft glow and with the scattergun aimed along the corridor, she kept watch.
Chapter 23
The King’s Reward
WAITING EXPECTANTLY FOR THE arrival of deadeye and his mysterious gift he had been informed his Magnificent Seven had brought back from the human world, King Mortgrimmest turned to his advisor.
“I wonder what they’ve got me,” he said excitedly. “I do like surprises.”
“You do, my liege,” nodded Hemlock. “I told you my Phantoms wouldn’t let you down.”
The faerie king glared at Hemlock. “Whose Phantoms?”
Hiding his sigh and his displeasure—he had spent years homing his Phantoms skills, whereas the king hadn’t even known of their existence until a short while ago—Hemlock answered, “Your Phantoms, my king.”
King Mortgrimmest grinned at his advisor’s acquiescence, which he knew didn’t come easily where his beloved assassins were involved. They were something he’d have to take care of before Hemlock applied their skills on him. “And don’t forget Deadeye, to whom I charged with leading them. I’m certain he played no small part in their success.”
“It’s not something I’m likely to forget, sire.”
Scowling at his advisor as he pondered the remark for signs of insubordination, Mortgrimmest’s thoughts were interrupted when the doors to his throne room abruptly opened, almost knocking the guards off their feet so vigorously were they thrown back. The rumble of cartwheels on the stone floor heralded the entrance of Deadeye leading the rat hitched to the wagon by the reins.
The king nudged his advisor with an elbow more forcefully than was strictly necessary; he hadn’t forgotten Hemlock’s previous remark yet. “Deadeye certainly knows how to make an entrance, eh?”
“He does indeed,” replied Hemlock, rubbing his arm as his peering eyes narrowed in their search for his Phantoms, who were so stealthy they were probably already in the room. It would soon be time to fulfill the main reason for their existence. He turned his gaze slyly upon the king who had risen to his huge hairy feet in an attempt to peer into the back of the cart.
“Damn, it's covered up,” uttered Mortgrimmest, plonking his ample backside back down onto his throne and watching Deadeye draw closer.
Trying unsuccessfully to hide his pleased expression, Deadeye halted the rat at the bottom of the steps leading up to the throne his king was perched excitedly upon and performed an exaggerated sweeping bow that rolled Hemlock’s eyes.
“My king, I am happy to report that the mission was a total success where I was concerned.”
Sensing trouble, Hemlock narrowed his eyes further.
“Yes, yes, but what have you brought me,” said the impatient king, eager to see his gift.
Deadeye moved to the side of the cart and swept a hand over the covered object. “Perhaps, my king, you would like to unwrap your gift personally?”
Hemlock leaned closer to Mortgrimmest. “I’m not sure that would be advisable, sire. It might be a trap.”
Mortgrimmest glared at his advisor as he stood. “Not all of my subjects are as conniving and backstabbing as you, Hemlock.” Rubbing his hands in anticipation, Mortgrimmest approached the back of the cart and took the corner of the cover Deadeye handed him.
“Give it a good tug, and your present will be revealed, sire,” instructed Deadeye.
The king yanked off the cover and, letting it slither to the ground, gasped on seeing the human female.
“I present to you, my king, one of the last surviving members of the Sinister family.”
The king dragged his gaze from the human and looked at Deadeye. “You’re certain she’s a Sinister?”
Though he had absolutely no idea–something he wasn’t about to admit—Deadeye nodded vigorously. “She was in the Sinister house when I was there before, and she bears an uncanny resemblance to the family portraits in the house.” He smiled inwardly at his quick thinking and the credible lie he had pulled from nowhere.
Mortgrimmest turned his gaze back upon the woman. “Splendid. Is she alive?”
“Most certainly. Unconscious is all. I thought you would like the pleasure of ending her life personally.”
The king nodded at the cruel images his brain conjured. “Indeed, I would. In a manner most unpleasant, bloody, and painful. However, I require her to be alert to experience every evil thing I have in mind for her.” He pointed at one of his throne guards. “Have her taken to the dungeons and looked after. Also, have the physician visit her and attend to any wounds. I want her in perfect health for her agonizing death.”
The guard nodded. “It will be done, my king.” His overly loud voice echoed around the throne room as he grabbed the rat’s reins and led the cart to the exit.
Mortgrimmest, in an unprecedented act of familiarity for someone outside his harem, put an arm around Deadeye. “You have done exceedingly well, Deadeye. Even passing my lofty and often unachievable expectations.”
“Thank you, sire,” replied Deadeye graciously, wondering what his reward would be but expecting it to be substantial.
“It is an achievement that will not go unrewarded, I assure you,” continued the king.
It was music to Deadeye’s ears. Believing a little groveling could only improve the amount he was about to receive, he said, “Your praise is reward enough, my king.”
The king released his arm and looked at Deadeye with a wide smirk. “Then that is what you will have. “Well done, Deadeye.”
Deadeye’s mouth dropped open in shock as he watched the king return to his throne.
Hemlock smiled smugly. The king would not find his Phantoms so cheaply rewarded.
“Er…when I said your praise is enough, it really was a figure of speech. A show of reverence, my king.”
“Oh, I’m always open for a bit of bootlicking—something you should probably work on as it really wasn’t that impressive—but going back on my decisions, not so much. The matter is closed.”
Deadeye sighed.
“Please, sire, don’t forget the part my…your” Hemlock corrected quickly “expertly trained Phantoms—which took many years—played in capturing the Sinister woman.”
The king looked about nervously. “Are they here?”
“Most definitely. Like shadows in the night, they move invisibly through…”
“Enough with the annoying hyperbole, Hemlock. Call them forth.”
Pouting, Hemlock glanced around the room. “Phantoms, reveal yourselves.”
All eyes except for Deadeye’s scanned the room for the assassins they expected to mysteriously appear. The king even looked behind his throne.
“Er...their appearance, except perhaps as phantoms of the ghostly kind, is going to be rather difficult, impossible even,” advised Deadeye.
“Explain yourself,” ordered Hemlock.
“All are dead,” answered Deadeye.
“What?! All dead?” uttered Hemlock disbelievingly.
Deadeye nodded. “Every murderous one.”
Hemlock huffed. “You surely jest.”
Deadeye shook his head. “Nope. Every single one of your assassins is deceased.” He sliced a finger along his throat for emphasis.
Shocked by the news, Hemlock staggered and almost collapsed to his knees.
Mortgrimmest's grin, wider and merrier than his usual sneer, was instigated by two good bits of news; first, Hemlock’s murderous Phantoms were dead, so no longer a threat, and second, he didn’t like dishing out rewards to living faeries, so he wasn’t about to reward corpses. He turned his gaze upon the bearer of this good news. Perhaps Deadeye did deserve something after all. But first to prolong his advisor’s obvious distress. “How did they die?”
“Very badly,” my king.
Hemlock groaned.
Wonderful The king refrained from rubbing his hands together in glee. “Did they suffer greatly before their lives were extinguished?”
Sensing Mortgrimmest’s enjoyment of the Phantoms demise, Deadeye played along. “Oh, yes, sire. Their deaths were long, slow, and brutal. Their girlish, agonized screams are still ringing in my head.”
Now scowling from the ridicule of his beloved Phantoms, and suspicious of Deadeye’s part in their demise, Hemlock probed further. “And what was the cause of their deaths?”
“Inadequate training, I imagine.”
The king guffawed loudly. That remark alone merited Deadeye a reward.
Hemlock wasn’t as amused. “And yet you survived. How is that?”
Deadeye shrugged. “Probably because you didn’t train me.”
The king tipped from his throne and collapsed to his knees in laughter, tears streaming down his face.
Hemlock narrowed his murderous eyes at the giggling fool. Barely suppressing the urge to plunge the knife he kept concealed beneath his cloak into the king’s back, he focused his wrath on the one-eyed jester. “You declare your mission a success, when it wasn’t, as there are still members of the Sinister family alive and well.”
“There is one surviving Sinister I know of, a man, who, like the woman I alone captured, also wasn’t at the house when we visited. Doubting the untested abilities of your years-trained Phantoms, Hemlock, I decided to keep them together and tasked them with seeking out the male Sinister while I went after the female. As has been recently proven, my endeavors were entirely successful, your Phantoms, not so much.” Deadeye turned away from the fuming advisor and focused on the king’s mirth-warped face, who was busy mopping away laughter tears from his cheeks with a corner of Hemlock’s cloak. “However, if it pleases my king, I will again enter the human world to seek out and kill or capture the remaining Sinister, but this time, with a group of my choosing who I can trust to do what I ask of them and who have not suffered the inadequate training of your advisor.”
Suppressing his giggles, the king nodded. “Do as you see fit, Deadeye, with my undenied approval. If you can bring him back here, then do so, but if that proves impossible, kill him and bring me back his head.”
Deadeye bowed. “Your wish is my command, sire.”
The king glared at his advisor. “If only all my subjects were as loyal…”
Believing his audience had been concluded, Deadeye shuffled backward.
The king’s voice halted him. “Before you go Deadeye, here’s a reward for your loyalty and entertainment. Kill the remaining Sinister, and there will be more.” He reached for something under his cloak and threw it to Deadeye.
Catching it, Deadeye jangled the bag of gold coins. It wasn’t as much as he had hoped for, but it was more than the nothing he thought he was going to receive a few moments ago. Picking his words carefully, he answered, “Thank you, my king. Just the right amount to fit in my trouser pocket, but not weighty enough to pull them down around my ankles.”
The king burst out laughing. “Normally I’d have you split open from neck to navel for a remark like that, but I like you, Deadeye. You make me laugh. So, I’ll let it slip, this once.”
“Much appreciated, my king,” said Deadeye, “as red isn’t really my color. He shuffled back the required steps before turning and heading for the exit.
The king looked at his fuming, sour-faced advisor. “That was fun.”
“For some of us.”
“Oh, cheer up, Hemlock. You can soon train some more killers.”
“No, sire, I can’t. It took me seven years to train the last ones.”
“Didn’t last long though, did they. Maybe you need to train the next lot for a few years longer, or,” he nodded at Deadeye stepping through the doorway at the end of the room. “Ask him to train them. He out-survived your assassins, so he must be doing something right.”
Hemlock narrowed his eyes on Deadeye’s back as the door swung closed. The only thing I’ll be asking from him is the bloodied heart I cut from his chest. “Yes, sire. It’s something I will contemplate.”
“Well, go contemplate it somewhere else as I can’t sit here all day having fun,” declared the king, standing. “I have important king duties to perform.”
Hemlock glanced toward the door of the harem longingly and looked forward to the day it would be his. When the door thudded closed behind Mortgrimmest Hemlock fumed at how things had gone wrong so quickly. That accursed Deadeye—of whom he was sure had something do to with the deaths of his precious Phantoms—might be the death of him if he didn’t act quickly. Maybe it’s time to reinstate the trainees that failed to achieve the rank of Phantom. Surely his slightly-less-murderous Sprites would be able to kill one ludicrous faerie. For devil’s sake, he didn’t even have two eyes. Attack from his blind side and he wouldn’t see them coming.
Glancing scornfully back at the king’s chamber, Hemlock turned away. Once the Deadeye problem had been resolved, he would turn his attention back to ousting Mortgrimmest and taking his place, then the kingdom would be his. Confident he would be victorious and shortly be sitting upon the throne, he headed for his chambers to send coded messages to his Sprites. Soon, all his troubles would be over.
Chapter 24
Creatures of the Night
SLAZAR, ONE OF THE night creatures known as Demoniacs and feared by all who encountered them, stirred from his slumber when moonlight seeped into the room. Hanging upside down from the ceiling, he gazed around at his twilight-bathed roosting brethren beginning to stir. To avoid the crushing mass exodus that would shortly occur, Slazar dropped, spread his membranous wings and swooped smoothly through the window. A flap back and forth in a figure 8 motion with his wingtips, hovered him effortlessly while he waited for the others to emerge from their slumber.
Noticing something out of place, Slazar pondered the orange glow coming from an opening high up in the building opposite. A flick of his wings glided it closer. While swooping past he peered through the front opening. In the dimly lit interior, he spied something unexpected, prey. Landing gently in the tree at the end of the building, he crawled along a thick branch and halting at its end, peered into the room through the side window. Slazar’s hungry eyes took in the sleeping forms he was keen to feast on.
