The Queen's assassin tc-3 Page 6

  Weasel and Rik looked at each other and silently mouthed the words they both knew he was going to say. "Just the way I like my women."

  "Better watch out — I hear that some strange ingredients been finding their way into those pies."

  "Just stories," said the Barbarian. He downed a full glass of vodka in one and bellowed for another. "Doubt anybody is collecting corpses for pies. The ghouls are beating them to it."

  Rik shot him a look. As a child, Rik had thought ghouls the most terrifying creatures imaginable. Tales of the monsters had always circled the orphanage. A vivid image sprang immediately from those days, of a creature horribly lean with grey mould-blotched flesh, sharp-toothed, eyes burning with an unspeakable hunger. And the worst thing was that you could become one. It was a disease that could be transmitted by their bite. "What’s that?"

  "You'd better get out of the Palace a bit more, Halfbreed," said Weasel. "Parts of the city are over-run with the corpse-eating bastards. The Quartermaster says we're going to be going on a ghoul hunt soon."

  “There are so many of them?”

  “I don’t imagine they are running through the Palace gardens, but packs of them are haunting the graveyards.”

  "Why do you think that is?" said Rik. "Way I always heard it, you get to be a ghoul by eating the flesh of dead men. It’s not like we besieged Halim long enough for mass starvation to break out."

  "Maybe you should ask your girlfriend. She would know."

  "Maybe I will."

  "Let me know if you find out anything interesting. It might be worth something to the right people." Weasel paused for a moment considering. "That's if you're still interested in our sort of money."

  Rik was. Not because he needed the money, he realised, but because he needed the connection to his old friends and the life they represented. You never knew when you might need to disappear back into the mass of humanity.

  “What’s new with the Quartermaster?”

  “He’s keeping his hand in. See that fat guy with the handlebar moustaches over there?”

  “The one with all the bodyguards? Black hair — looks dyed.”

  “The very same. His name is Uri. He’s big in the local gangs. We’ve been doing some business on the black market with him.”

  “For the Quartermaster?”

  “Aye. He tells us some interesting stuff sometimes, when he wants to. The sort of stuff it might be useful to your Lady A and her cronies, if you catch my meaning.”

  “Want to introduce us?”

  “If you like, only I hope you’ve still got a head for vodka, because those lads like to drink.”

  “Somehow I will survive.”

  “Let’s go over and say hello then. One word of warning.” Weasel looked serious.

  “What’s that?”

  “Be careful what you say about corpses. Uri and his boys deal in them?”

  “Bodysnatchers?” It was a business that Rik disliked; selling fresh corpses for dissection to medical students, or as subjects for the strange experiments of necromancers. Such people were often not too picky about how they got their raw materials.

  “The same. Aside from that they are good blokes,” said Weasel. “And they like a game of cards.”

  “Let’s have a word with them then and maybe play a few hands.”

  “I won’t be joining you,” said the Barbarian. He gestured at a couple of plump bar-girls who were waving at him. “It looks like my luck is in.”

  “He won’t be saying that in the morning,” said Weasel shouldering his way through the crowd.

  Chapter Six

  "You look like you've contracted the plague," said Asea, looking up from the complex diagram she studied. Before she folded up the massive parchment, Rik caught sight of what looked like an architectural schematic — he had seen many of those during his time as a burglar in Sorrow- although the building it depicted was unlike anything he had ever seen before.

  "My head feels like a bridgeback is stamping on it. I went drinking with Weasel and the Barbarian last night."

  "Did you find out anything interesting?"

  "The usual rumours and some unusual ones…"

  "How so?"

  "It seems there has been a plague of ghouls in parts of the city — thick as rats in a garbage heap. The Foragers are supposed to be going on a ghoul hunt today." Rik did not envy them that.

  Asea pursed her lips and steepled her fingers under her chin. "Ghouls are most common when there is a build-up of necromantic energies — there seems to be something about the presence of death magic in an area that encourages the disease."

  Without being asked Rik took one of the beautifully upholstered claw footed chairs opposite her desk. "Would you care to explain that to me — I am just an ignorant slum boy from Sorrow."

  "All magic releases energy, Rik. Philosophers think it leaks into our worlds from the Great Deeps. Sometimes other things release specific types of magical energy. The magical engines of the Serpent Tower, for instance. Certain violent forms of death seem to punch holes through the fabric of reality into the darker realms and let baneful energies through. It may be why ghosts appear on battlefields and the sites of murders. They are particularly common where dark magic has been used at the same time as battles or slayings."

  “Why should there be such energies here?”

  “After the Schism the Great Plague swept through Halim. Some considered it the curse of God for the murder of Queen Amarielle. There were so many bodies that they could not all be given individual burials or burnings. Huge plague pits were dug in the Grand Cemetery and bodies were just thrown in. There were thousands of them. Quicklime was used and alchemical fire. The pits were covered over. No one disturbs them for fear of releasing the plague again.”

  “Is it likely?”

  “Who can say? It’s certain that the Grand Cemetery contains a residue of death energies. That’s why it has its own tomb guards. Or at least it did.”

  “What happened?”

  “They were drafted into the city guard to fight against us. They are now badly under strength. That’s why your friends are doing the work now.”

  Rik felt like he had found out enough on this subject.

  "What are those plans you were looking at?" he asked. "Are you thinking of building some sort of domed temple."

  "They are Signor Benjario's plans for a flying machine."

  "A flying machine?" Thoughts of the Serpent Tower and the flying coffin in which he had escaped from it filled his mind. They were not his fondest memories. "You are not thinking of building one are you?"

  "No, Rik. I am having him build one for me."

  "You are not serious."

  "I am, Rik. Deadly serious. We shall be paying the good engineer a visit later this afternoon. However none of this is why you are here today. We're going to continue your lessons in sorcery. After all, you did ask for them."

  Rik bit back a groan. All his life he had wanted to learn the forbidden arts. He had never suspected that they could be so dull. His training seemed to consist of nothing but meditation, of clearing his mind and concentrating on his heartbeat and his breathing, of trying to visualize Elder Signs in his mind. There had been no demonic lore, no learning about love potions, none of the strange drug-induced rituals that filled the cheap chap-books he loved to read. The biggest threat he faced did not appear to be to his soul but to his sanity; the dullness of it all was near mind-destroying.

  "Before you learned to walk, you first learned to crawl," said Asea. "There are no shortcuts to mystical power despite what certain of the secret brotherhoods would have you believe."

  "I don't doubt you," he said sourly. "How long will it take before I am ready to learn spells?" He asked the question almost every day, and almost every day he got the same answer.

  “You have already learned spells, Rik. You are just not ready to cast them.” The few spells Asea had taught him simply did not work — when he invoked them nothing happened. It was as if he
had not the slightest shred of the talent she assured him he possessed.

  “Let me rephrase that- when will I learn spells that work?”

  "It could be years. A Terrarch can take decades to achieve contact with the flows of tau. You are already much further along than most apprentices of your age — which is only to be expected. Humans come into their power much younger."

  "Is that why sorcery drives them mad?"

  "Partially. It is also because they do not take the time to learn the rituals of protection and filtration, and the energies they absorb warp their brains."

  A sudden thought struck Rik. "Is that why you have me concentrate on Elder Signs all the time?"

  She clapped her hands ironically. "Bravo, Rik. I knew you would understand it eventually. Mastering the Elder Signs is the first step along the road of wizardry. You must be able to invoke them and visualise them under almost any circumstance, no matter what pressure your surroundings may place on you. They will let you control and purify the energies of magic that surround us. Now clear your mind, and concentrate on your breathing and try to visualise a five pointed star within a circle."

  He closed his eyes and did so.

  "The circle must be perfect and the star must glow softly."

  He continued to concentrate and slowly it took form and as it did so he felt something strange happen. He could not have described it but it was a tickling on the edge of his consciousness as if he were touching something with his mind, or something was touching him. He wanted to mention it to Asea, but his concentration lapsed and it was gone.

  He began to the process once more.

  Sardec looked at Sergeant Hef and then at the entrance to the graveyard. It was massive, for this was an ancient burial ground, on the outskirts of the city. A statue of a dragon-winged angel bearing a scythe guarded the entrance. Her male counterpart stood on the other side.

  "Any questions, gentlemen?" Sardec asked. The Foragers laughed and their humour seemed genuine. It was not often a Terrarch called any human gentlemen.

  "Just one thing, sir," said Weasel. Sardec wondered if the gangling sharpshooter was going to make another joke but his question seemed quite serious.

  "Why are we checking out this graveyard?"

  “Because we killed all the tomb wardens when we took the city.”

  “Why do they need tomb wardens?” someone at the back asked.

  "Because the Kharadreans bury their dead according to the old rite, rather than burn them. There are bodies beneath all those gravestones and in all those mausoleums."

  A look of horror passed over some of the men's faces. It seemed almost obscene not to give the departed a clean burning, but customs differed. Perhaps the Generals of the Scarlet Armies should impose a new ordinance and force people to do so. After all, burying bodies provided raw materials for necromancers and food for ghouls. Then again, there was nothing surer to provoke people than interfering with their religious rites.

  "What if an unclean spirit gets into the corpses, sir?"

  "They bury them face down, so that if they try and claw their way out, they burrow down."

  "And we're supposed to check out this whole place, sir?"

  "I doubt we will have to, Weasel, but we will should it be necessary. Everybody have their truesilver bullets ready?" He hoped they did. He had provided those bullets at his own expense and he would not have liked to order any man flogged for having sold his on the black market. He suspected that more than a few of them had.

  Every man present nodded. "Remember if you do see any ghouls don't let them bite you. If you are bitten pour whiskey on the wound, and flame it if need be. I know it’s a waste of good whiskey but better that than becoming a soulless monster. If we don't encounter any trouble you can always drink the stuff later."

  Sardec wondered if the army's sorcerers had got this right. He did not understand how bathing a wound in whiskey and then cauterising it could prevent the onset of the disease but doubtless there was some deep alchemical principle involved. It was all beyond his understanding.

  "If you see a ghoul, shoot first. If worst comes to worst use your bayonets but try not to let them get too close. I want every man paired with a torchbearer. Ghouls fear fire."

  "I do, too," said Weasel, "particularly if it’s been set to good whiskey."

  The Foragers moved into the graveyard. Sardec felt sure that inhuman eyes watched them from the shadows.

  The manufactory was a large shed on the outskirts of town. It stunk of alchemicals. Inside a long hall, a dozen seamstresses sewed a huge structure of fabric together, working on the panelling. In another place, artisans treated a mass of cloth with some sort of chemical mixture. Everybody present had handkerchiefs wrapped round their faces and gloves on their hands.

  In part of the chamber, rope-makers twisted long strands of hemp together. The largest basket Rik had ever seen stood in one corner. In the most distant corner of the room, blacksmiths worked on metal cylinders. In the middle of the works, Master Benjario presided over the bustle of activity, pausing only occasionally to take snuff or a swig of wine from a goblet that a small dark-skinned scolding woman presented to him. As soon as Rik and Asea entered he hustled over to them.

  "Lady Asea, Master Rik, Benjario is pleased that you visit his humble premises."

  "I am pleased to be here, Master Benjario. I am glad to see my investment is being put to such good use. I trust that things are progressing well."

  "Better than well, my Lady. Better than well. Superbly. As they must when Benjario supervises."

  Whatever else he might lack, Rik thought, the engineer was not short of self-esteem.

  "All is in readiness for our flight?" Asea asked. Benjario looked a little shifty.

  "My Lady doubts the word of Benjario?"

  "Not in the least, Master Benjario. I can think of few mortals I would trust more. I am simply excited by the prospect of a trip through the heavens."

  Benjario smiled indulgently and kissed his fingers. "Your Ladyship's presence will grace the skies as much as the shining of the sun."

  The dark-skinned woman behind Benjario glared at him. She must be his wife, Rik guessed. She saw Rik looking at her and shot a daggered look at him too. His fine clothes obviously did not daunt her. Rik nodded to her as pleasantly as he could.

  "It is your mechanism that will make it possible, Master. I am looking forward to tomorrow very much."

  "Tomorrow?" said Rik.

  "Tomorrow," said Asea.

  "Tomorrow…" murmured Benjario, with something less than certainty.

  "You assured me that the air-chariot would be ready by tomorrow," said Asea. "Surely that is the case. It is not possible that Benjario could have miscalculated. His genius is too enormous for that."

  Benjario swelled like a toad at the praise. His smile grew broader but he said, "There may be a few minor delays, Milady. My work force is lazy and even Benjario cannot be everywhere at once. I wish to check every detail of the preparations. It would not do to have something go wrong as we ascend triumphantly into the skies. It would be a tragedy if the genius of Benjario and the beauty of the Lady Asea were to be lost to the world."

  "I could not agree more," said Lady Asea. "Still you assured me that you had more than enough time to complete your preparations. It is important that we take flight on the feast day of Saint Aviara. She is the patron of birds and it is a most auspicious day for our journey. Surely you want as many witnesses to your triumph as possible?"

  "Indeed I do, Milady, but surely one feast day is as good as another. What matters a delay of a week when one is about to step into the pages of history."

  "Of course, Master Benjario, you are right," said Asea with what Rik thought of as astonishing mildness for her. She paused for a moment, looked at him and said. "Lady Sybea was telling me last night that her proteges, the Gazarone brothers, are preparing to fly in two days time."

  "The Gazarones! Charlatans! Benjario has forgotten more about the scienc
e of stratospherics than they ever knew."

  "I thought that must be the case," said Asea. "I told Lady Sybea, it was impossible that they would beat Benjario into the annals of aeronautics. I have no doubt that your place in history is secure Master Benjario. After all, if you assure me that they will not get their vehicle aloft in two days, then the thing is not possible. Two Kharadrean charlatans could not know more about these matters than you."

  "Two days, you say, Milady?"

  "So Lady Sybea assures me, but no matter, I will tell her that the great Benjario has assured me otherwise. I am sure she will be the first to admit her mistake."

  "But Milady if there is even the slightest possibility that they may somehow complete their chariot within two days then we must fly tomorrow."

  "Certainly not, Master Benjario. You have assured me that such a thing is not possible, and I would not presume to doubt you in such a case."

  "Even the mightiest intellects may miscalculate occasionally, Milady. Even Benjario, if only very rarely indeed, but a truly great intellect must never discount the possibility that it might be mistaken."

  "But what about the safety factors?"

  "Benjario sneers in the face of danger."

  "But what of the risk to Lady Asea?" asked Rik.

  "If there is any danger, Benjario will gladly face it alone."

  "I am sure that if Master Benjario thinks the vehicle is safe enough for him, then it will be safe enough for us, Rik," said Asea with the blandest of smiles.

  "Us?" said Rik.

  "You will be accompanying me, I hope."

  Rik stared at her. Benjario bowed. "Milady, if I may be excused, I must see to it that these lazy swine do not slack on the job and that our chariot is ready to carry us into the history books."

  "Of course, Master Benjario," said Asea with a nod of her head. As they departed Rik heard Benjario roaring like a bull at his staff. They all rushed to obey, except for his wife who stood nearby, making small circling motions with her forefinger against the side of her head.