Out of their depth, p.18
Out of Their Depth, page 18
The courtyard was empty. Githwin had imagined bodies stacked in the fountain, its water turned to red, but everything seemed normal. Miri motioned for Grimlok and Bunce to move left and check the rooms on that side, while she, Githwin, and Varakai went right. They found signs of a hasty departure: meals half eaten, a few items of clothing left about, but no people or animals.
“Where did they go?” Bunce thought out loud.
“Why or where, I do not know, but they fled.” Varakai said. “I can check for signs of magic.”
“Like you showed me at the cemetery?”
“The same,” Varakai said. The mage spread his hands and began muttering under his breath.
Githwin felt the air get abruptly cool. That reminded him of something, but he did not chase the memory. “Any signs of magic this time?” asked Githwin.
“Nothing,” Varakai replied, frowning. “I had thought—”
“Are you two done?” Miri interjected. “No sign of our host. The place looks abandoned. Now what do you masterminds propose?”
“I have a theory,” Varakai said. “We should search Margaret’s room.”
“What?” Githwin said, recoiling. “Search a noblewoman’s chambers without permission?”
Varakai shrugged. “I am a foreigner here. Let me do it. You need not take part.”
“That is not the point,” Githwin said.
“I’m with Song Boy on this one,” Miri said.
Varakai looked at them both, stroking his goatee. “She was supposed to meet us, or at least Githwin, here. We are here at the appointed time and she is not, and there are signs of a hasty departure.” He glanced around the courtyard. “She might be in a room we have not checked. She might conceivably be in danger.”
“That's not really why you want to search her room,” Githwin said.
“No,” Varakai said with a slight nod. “I am looking for a book. I wish to know what Margaret and Hugh were reading together in old Alvenian.”
Githwin’s eyes narrowed. “What is important about that?”
“My theory is that the book might explain why Hugh has been going out to the old temple. It might explain other things, as well.”
“Such as?” Githwin asked.
“It was something you said on the way here,” the mage said. “About how tireless the undead could be. But let’s not get too far ahead. First, I would like to find that book.”
“Fine,” Miri said. “Let’s go find her room. Githwin, you can keep watch.”
They found Margaret’s chambers easily enough. It was a large corner room with a curtained four-post bed, a writing desk, a graceful couch, and a collection of locked wooden chests. The room smelled faintly of lavender.
Varakai led the group into the room. After a glance about, he went straight to the desk and grabbed up the single book there. He began reading, only to sigh in disappointment after a short time.
“Do you want these open?” Grimlok asked, pointing toward the chests along the wall.
Varakai shook his head. “Not yet. Try the bed first. Under the pillows and under the mattress.”
“I’ll do that thing,” Miri said, forestalling the others. She leaned Big Bess against the wall with care and proceeded to pull the curtains aside to rummage through the sheets. Finding nothing, she heaved part of the thick feather mattress off the base. Tucked in one corner was a venerable leather-bound book. “Varakai, I think I found your damned book.”
Varakai rushed over and seized the volume from its hiding place. The others clustered around as the mage began to read. “Yes, this is about the Tower of the Moon. A Temple to Raiden, the twin brother of Arathan. So it says. Not all agree. They once worshipped both, the same priests. Day services at one temple, night services at the other. Ah, but then they war, priest killing priest. Ah, what is this? The last priest of Raiden asks for a protector, and gets…this.” He pointed to something in the book. “He may not have known his god as well as he should, but I think we now have our killer.”
Githwin, who had been watching the doorway, sidled over and looked at the open page—then wished he hadn't. It portrayed a horror, a bipedal monstrosity with elongated claws. He slunk back to the door and looked out on the empty courtyard. Nothing moved but the fountain's water.
He peered at the two statues in the fountain. Two men, standing as close friends or family might, shoulder to shoulder, one with an arm looped across the other. He noticed that the statue on the left had been carven of a light stone, though now discolored with age. The one on the right was almost black.
He looked down at the tile. White and black. Arathan and Raiden. No artist would dare portray such a kinship, such a duality. Not now.
It was not always so.
The sound of the running fountain made him aware of a painfully full bladder. Looking back into the room, he saw the other four packed tightly around the book. Varakai had lowered his voice and was reading from the text. The musician caught the words, “Third Legion,” “destroyed,” and “cast into the sea.” Githwin called out that he was going to the privy.
He had previously seen an odd privy-like room; now he walked around the courtyard to it. The room was long and narrow, with a stone basin halfway along the side wall and a wooden box seat at the far end. Dark gray metal pipes ran along the wall connecting the box and basin. He had never seen the like. The musician hurried over to the box, dropped his breeches, and sat down with a groan.
Nothing happened. One moment he had to go, and the next he was all plugged up. He looked over and noticed a lever along the pipe. On an impulse, he pushed the lever.
He heard a gush of water through the pipes and felt a cool spray on his bare buttocks. He stood up with great haste and an oath, then chuckled when he saw water pouring from a spout on the side of the box’s interior, then running down a larger pipe in the bottom. It almost drowned out the sound of something scraping.
Had he heard something outside? The chuckle died in his throat. The scrape of something on tile? Githwin yanked his breeches up. He had an irrational fear of dying on the privy, undergarments around his ankles.
More scraping sounds.
He looked at the door. Had he locked it? It was hard to see. The only light in the room filtered in between the top of the doorframe and the overhanging roof.
The door creaked from pressure but did not open. He held his breath. When he let it go and inhaled again, the smell hit him.
Lavender perfume.
“Margaret!” Githwin called, rushing to the door. Locked. He threw his shoulder into the solid wood and bounced off. Wedged! Damn!
He heard the tinkle of laughter, then the smell of her perfume receded.
When he finally got the door open, he saw no one nearby. The musician ran back to the bedchamber and burst in. “Was no one on watch?”
Miri looked down at him. “You said you were.”
“I told you I was going to the privy.”
“Well, I didn’t hear you, so it’s a good thing we are all not fucking dead. Now, do you have something useful to say?”
“She was here.”
“Who?”
“Lady Margaret.”
“You saw her?”
“Well, not exactly.” He told them what had happened. Bunce laughed, but the others looked serious. Miri motioned to Bunce to check the outside of the building while the rest of them searched the interior. There was no sign of her inside, though Bunce found some prints of small booted feet around a postern door.
“What is that lass up to?” asked Grimlok.
“No idea,” Miri said with a frown.
“I do,” Githwin said. “Which way did the footprints go, Bunce?”
“She left to the west at a run,” Bunce replied.
Githwin nodded. “She has tried to ensure we are as far away as possible from that old temple this afternoon.”
“Why?” asked Miri.
“She is trying to make sure our hero is not in danger," said Bunce. "She keeps saying how inconvenient it is that Lover Boy is here.”
“Yes,” Githwin acknowledged, “though I don’t comprehend how you know she has said those things.”
“I have good ears.”
“So she knows something?” Grimlok asked.
Varakai pointed at the open book. “She knows, or guesses, that the sheriff and all those with him are going to run into that.” A shudder went through them all. The drawing in the old Alvenian book reflected a high standard of detailed artistry. The setting showed a temple floor marked with arcane signs, a moon clearly visible in the sky through rows of columns. In the center was a vaguely man-shaped creature with a long powerful tail, jaws of a great bear, and claws like long, curved knives.
Githwin groaned. “It is much worse than that.”
“What's worse than that?” Miri said.
“The High Priest will be here soon, and I have this vague memory that Father Martin said he intended to visit the old temple.”
“So we stop him from going to the temple,” Miri said.
“The devil has already killed inside the village,” Varakai said.
“We need to get back to town," said Githwin. "I will write a note to the Vicar General urging her not to come within five leagues of Narbeth until she hears from us. Then I think we have to do the opposite of what Margaret wanted and go out to that thrice-damned temple. We might just have time before dark.”
“There will be no moon tonight,” Varakai said.
“Maybe that will weaken a devil of Raiden,” Grimlok offered. “His symbol is the moon, after all.”
“Didn’t seem to keep it from leaping to a second-story window last night,” Bunce said.
Everyone hated it when Bunce was right.
CHAPTER 10
BETRAYALS
The trip out to the Fitzhugh estate had not gone at all as Githwin had envisioned when Margaret had made the invitation, though he was suspicious it had gone exactly the way she intended. Retracing their steps, Githwin, Miri, Grimlok, Varakai and Bunce made a hurried march back to the town as the shadows began to lengthen. Narbeth looked like a forlorn pugilist at the end of a fight: streets still muddy from the recent rains, blocked by hasty barricades of worn grey wooden carts, wheelbarrows, crates, and barrels, like shattered teeth in rotten gums, and all the window shutters closed tight along pale plaster walls like badly swollen eyes in tired, battered faces.
Working their way through gaps in the barricades, the small group made it to the inn. It looked closed, but Githwin found its main doors unlocked. The others waited outside as the musician raced up to their room, scrawled out a quick note, and stumbled back down the stairs. Wading through the smoky and nearly empty common room, Githwin saw a small figure clearing clay bowls from a table.
“Henry,” Githwin said, holding up the letter. “Can you find a courier and get this sent today, if at all possible?” He pulled a silver piece from his purse.
“I shall try my best, Sir,” Henry said.
“Very good,” Githwin said, handing the boy both letter and coin. “Now I‘ve got to run.”
“You’ll be back, Sir, won’t you?” Henry asked as Githwin turned to leave. “Everybody is scared with night coming.”
The musician knelt in front of the boy and gripped him by the shoulders. “Henry, stay inside. Don’t go out for any reason—you and your sisters. Guests and horses can wait until morning. Your aunt will understand.”
“All right,” Henry said. “But you are coming back? You and the others?”
“Yes, Henry,” Githwin replied. “We will see this through.” He reached up to tousle the boy’s hair, but the image of Rose doing the same flashed through his mind. He patted the boy’s shoulder instead. “I have to go now, Henry. We have something important to do to help keep people safe.”
Outside, Githwin found the others about where he had left them.
“Let’s get going,” Miri said. “Bunce, I want you on point.” She looked up at the sky. “Cutting it too close,” she muttered. “Let’s pick up the pace until we get to the woods.” They moved at the double out of town, heading north.
“We know where we are going—and how far?” Githwin asked between breaths. “I only know—from the map—that it is north, along the river.”
“We got that covered,” Miri said, striding easily at his side. “The mayor saw us hanging around and stopped by to chat some more about his plans for after dark. We told him we might make a run at the tower. He said we were mad, but if that's where we wanted to go, then head toward the dead woodcutter’s place. Just to the east of it we will hit the old road that runs straight to this temple of the damned. Less than a league.” She leaned in close to whisper to Githwin. “Oh, and here is a juicy tidbit. Mayor says he used to go out there as a teenager. All the local kids sneak out there for a thrill. Gives you bad dreams for weeks.”
Reaching the woods, they found the old road. The creepers and brush had grown over the paved track, but it was still discernable. To the right, they could just make out the dark stretch of the river, black-green under a darkening sky.
It was quiet under the trees. The only sounds were the stamps of their muddy boots on flagstones and the wet snaps as they stepped on brambles.
Then they saw the first body.
Bunce had halted and was pointing at something. As they closed up on the archer, the musician’s eyes followed the outstretched arm. A person was lying in the trail, face down—or at any rate, chest down. The neck ended in a shredded red ruin.
A few flies buzzed around the wound. There were no birds.
Miri motioned to Bunce to circle the area and for Githwin and Grimlok to check out the body. As the pair crept toward the corpse, Githwin kept his eyes looking anywhere but at the gory stump. Realizing he was holding his breath, the musician forced himself to exhale. He looked down at the fallen body, noting wounds on the shoulders, then foot-nudged it over onto its back. It had been a man of average height and build, wearing cheap wool garments dyed a pale red and green. There were no other signs of wounds, though he still felt nauseous.
Grimlok knelt beside the body, ran a finger along the edge of the ragged wound, and brought the dripping digit carefully to his lips. He tasted the blood with the tip of his tongue.
“What in damnation are you doing?” Githwin said.
“You can tell a lot from the taste of things,” the dwarf replied.
The musician shuddered. “Well, don’t do that around me, please.”
Grimlok started to respond, but the sounds of Miri stomping to their side gave him pause. “Anything?” Miri asked, looking back and forth between them.
“A dead villager, I suspect,” Githwin said. “Threw his weapons away and was running, got grabbed from behind and then—well, you can see.” The musician waved his sword vaguely at the ruined neck.
Something sailed through the air and landed at their feet, making all of them jump, and Miri and Grimlok curse. A severed head rolled around on the earth to come to a stop by Githwin’s feet. “Shit!” he said, kicking the thing away.
“Found the head,” Bunce said, emerging from the brush at the side of the road. “There are more bodies further down.” The elf jerked a thumb toward the road where it disappeared into the undergrowth.
“How many?” Miri asked. "And was it really necessary to throw someone's head?
Bunce shrugged. “Two I could make out.”
“Hells. All right,” Miri said. “Varakai, get up here,” she called to the mage, who was watching the backtrail. Wearing no armor and bearing no weapons, he made very little noise. Varakai knelt to study the body, then stood up.
“Any reason to keep stopping at bodies?” Miri asked the assembled group. Heads shook. “My thought too. Bunce, push on to this temple unless you see something that we can’t or shouldn’t bypass. And if you do see something, don't shock the fuck out of us again without a good reason. Clear?”
Bunce nodded and turned to go, but Varakai grabbed his shoulder. “Bunce, which way do you judge the creature went?”
“West,” Bunce said. “Tracks lead off that way as far as I dared follow,” he said, pointing toward where the glow of the sun added warm oranges and darker reds to the greens and greys of leaves and bark.
“At least it didn’t just keep heading toward town,” Grimlok offered.
They all looked at each other. “How long ago did this happen?” Miri asked.
Bunce reached down and picked up one of the corpse’s arms, then let it fall back to the earth. “Recently, though that was obvious since he was one of the group with the sheriff this afternoon.”
“Within a candle, I wager,” Grimlok said. “The blood is not dry around the neck wound.”
“Right,” Miri said after a short, shocked silence. “I should know by now not to ask questions. So, this happened today, meaning the sheriff and his band of idiots found what they were looking for.” She scanned the overgrown roadbed, the raised shoulders sloping off into the darkening woods. “This land was probably cleared once. The going off road should not be much slower than staying on the old road and something could still be waiting ahead,” Miri muttered as she checked the sun’s position for the hundredth time.
All but Githwin stood silent, waiting for her to decide. "Why did the creature turn west?” he asked. His mind went back over the memory of the map. “What is west of here except Daagen Brook and the Fitzhugh estate beyond?”
“Maybe it went all the way out there,” Grimlok said. “Which is why all the people were gone from the manor.”
“The timing doesn't work,” Githwin said. “This happened while we were at the manor, or soon after. The folks at the manor left during their midday meal.”
“Don’t know, don’t care.” Miri said. “Bunce, follow the road, but keep us to one side. Say, twenty paces away.”
The elf inclined his head. “Slower going that way.” he said pointing to the east. “Closer you get to the river, the worse the undergrowth.” He laughed. “Course, that is the way the sheriff and his men went. Must have been guiding off the river so as not to get lost.”
