​1 Reflections are Dangerous Things

Year 923YC, in the Year of the Church

HIDDEN IN SHADOW, a viral watched two breathers dump a body into the canal. He fiddled with a lump of silver at his neck, waiting for them to leave.

Vespers had ended. Acolytes in white woollens scurried away in the late-autumn moonlight. Threadfin Todder stepped away from the church wall and crossed the cold earth towards the canal docks, adjusting his long borderlands coat. In this city, no one with a brain wore imperial garb, not if they didn’t want to end up a floating corpse. It was the clothing of tradition and oppression.

He paused by a gutter, still in the shadow of the church. Lightweight, the crossbow took seconds to load with a self-cocking lever. His other weapon was a curved iron blade, which was a poor imitation of a Nephilim scarap, strapped to his leg. He touched its cold handle before moving on through the frozen mulch and litter that was Lame City.

He sidestepped slush-rimmed puddles that had frozen over. Reflections were dangerous things and anything could be watching.

The building he sought was four stories high, grey brick paled by a gibbous moon, and squatting close to the water. Disused warehouses lined the dark flow of the canal, which was dotted with rotting barges.

He never was one to let opportunity slip by and was soon yanking at a dead woman’s fingers, prying loose those gaudy rings. The fact the corpse was still twitching didn’t stop him. He grinned on sight of the spring-powered clock in the style of a pendant. Lost knowledge those and priceless too. He shook it and heard ticking. Old Atlantian. He’d pried one open once. A complicated mechanism, though it had quit working once he’d fiddled with it.

Should keep those two bastards happy, he thought. He’d hauled her out of the water easy enough since they hadn’t weighted the body. Made him wonder if they’d been amateurs, or maybe they hadn’t cared. Only the most powerful ignored loot this good. Didn’t even try making it look a mugging and why bother? None cared. This was the Muck. Grim-blinded breathers got what they deserved anyhow.

‘Quit squirming, ya daft dead doxy.’ He placed his leather boot against her skull and made a show of it. Why a corpse would still want to be up and at ’em might’ve bothered other folk, but not Threadfin Todder.

Pity the other hand was missing fingers. She looked like the type who wore too many rings. He scanned about for sign of three lumps of flesh, carrying weight, wriggling across the earth.

Her undamaged hand reached for his face, but he slapped it down. The one time a woman wanted to go funny on him and she was fish bait. He was no catch with his skeletal face, blotchy grey skin, and ridged forehead, but he wasn’t that desperate. Of course, he knew what was happening. Now he enjoyed a joke as much as the next undeader, but she was taking it too far.

He freed the last of the rings, then a silver crucifix from around her neck followed. Never have too many of those. He kicked the corpse off him and stepped away, tired of the game.

‘Alright,’ he called out. ‘Enough, come on out.’ Standing side-on, he aimed the crossbow, arm outstretched as he sighted along its length. One could never be too careful in Lame.

The woman’s arms kept flailing like some possessed rag doll the rich used to import from Atlantis before it went and disappeared.

‘I know it’s you. Game’s up.’

Giggles erupted from the shadow of a doorway. Out stepped a girl of seventeen, or thereabouts. A scrawny creature with tufts of blonde hair and a face smeared with dirt, her skin had a greenish tinge. Tezcat Licolo wore rags like all Muckers under a dirty blue coat she’d traded for. He relaxed, lowering the weapon.

As far as he knew they were the last two.

He didn’t depend on anything but a blade, which he wasn’t very good with, or the small one-handed crossbow, which wasn’t very effective. Truth be told, which he didn’t always do, he’d fired the crossbow once, at a rat. The rat had survived.

Tezcat, on the other hand, didn’t need weapons. She was stronger than any he’d heard of, but it made her a target for those who noticed such things. He’d taken it upon himself to make certain none did. Breathers hated the undead despite the fact few living had met one.

The deceased woman flopped onto her belly and tried shoving herself up. Threadfin stifled a laugh. It looked like she was doing exercises. Was a bit late to be worrying about her health. A chuckle escaped him before he could stop. No, best not encourage her. It was for her own good.

He tried keeping his tone serious. The smile kept slipping back. The girl was talented. ‘Enough already.’

‘Doesn’t you want to kiss your, girlfriend?’ She skipped towards him, and waving her arms, made the corpse dance on its knees. The woman’s head tossed back and forth, the neck bones creaking as the swollen lips puckered up.

‘Not unless I want to bring up last month’s guck.’

Tezcat frowned as she dropped her arms. The corpse fell flat with a wet thump. ‘You know, you used be fun afore.’ She fidgeted with her fingers, rubbing at her dirty smooth skin. Still young, her body hadn’t decayed much. ‘Does you never think of me ... you know, like a sister?’

‘I already have a sister.’ What brought this on? Anyway, his sister was far away and well rid of him. In the whole wide terrible world, it was all that mattered.

‘Yeah, but she’s a breather, and she don’t takes care o’ you. Not like I does. Not no more. She don’t understands you, not like me, and I is here. She’s never here.’

He was rifling through the woman’s clothes again, in case he’d missed something, but paused to give her a stern look. ‘No one cared for me better. Not her fault she can’t be here.’ Was her fault he was stuck in Lame, but she’d had her reasons. Good ones no doubt. ‘Besides, you often disappear. Sometimes I can’t find you for days. Anyhow, I don’t see why you’re getting all upset.’

‘I’m angry at her.’

‘How can you be mad at someone you’ve never met? I’ve told you next to nothing about her.’

She grimaced, and then held out an object in her hand. ‘Look, I gots you a present. Bet she never gots you presents?’

He stopped what he was doing and stared at the leather bag she had produced from somewhere within her blue borderlands coat. It had a wooden stopper in a narrow, wrinkled neck. ‘You told me,’ she said, ‘you know, that you has a problem. Wasn’t easy getting hold o’ it but I was tolds it would work. Cost me forty scrips too. Don’t looks at me like that. I has enough hidden. Got it, you know, from a breather what don’t ask questions.’

‘What is it?’

‘They don’t like it. It’s called ...um ... paper, or no wait, peppermint oil. It came in on them ships in Paldan, I think. They gots all sorts o’ weird stuff. You wants a lemon?’ She dug one out of her coat, offering it.

Eyeing the offensive yellow lump, he shook his head. Damn infestation was getting out of hand. He’d already gotten a salt bath to dry him out using the last of the natron weeks ago. ‘Thanks, but what do I do with it?’

‘Try rubbing it on or drinks it. I dunno, maybe both. Oh,’ she added, digging into her other pockets, ‘I gots what else you asked for too.’ She handed him a blue clay pot. This one contained natron from the dry lake beds of Valtar. ‘Cost doubles from last time.’

It was getting harder to acquire such items without raising suspicions. ‘You get enough for yourself?’

She nodded. ‘We used do stuffs together, ’member?’

‘Not sure I do,’ he said, busy stuffing the jar and leather bag into his own pockets along with the loot. There was nothing left on the corpse worth a bother.

‘Don’t lie. You does ’member. We freaked them poshers at Paladin Fervent’s party with them dead moggies. Never heard as much screechin’ and squawkin’ and those was the guests. That moggy with no eyes were priceless.’

Threadfin paused a second time, and gave the girl a longer look. Underneath all the dirt her skin was pale despite its olive cast. Her hands and lips had a bluish touch. In many ways, they were kin, both despised and cast aside. ‘I guess,’ he said, ‘I do kind of think of you like a sister, sort of.’

She gave him a big smile. ‘You ’member we gaves them acolytes humongous boils on their bums that time?’ She erupted in laughter. ‘Thought they’d ... they’d caught a form o’ plague. None o’ them coulds sit for a week, and ’member that old paladin wearin’ a mask shooing them half naked out o’ the church with a brush?’ She was gripping her sides now in hysterics. ‘They was, they was runnin’ ... clutchin’ theirs white ...’

He fought the urge to join her. Yes, it had been a good night. ‘Times have gotten dangerous, Cat. Exemplars have been nosing about, and there’ve been murders. Talk of open rebellion has been growing. You know what breathers are like. Told you before, you shouldn’t display your magic. What if someone saw, eh? They might take you for a viral, and then what?’

‘I is a viral.’

‘Yes, but they don’t know that.’

She shrugged. ‘Tis you what needs watchin’ after. I mean, what woulds you do without me?’ She grabbed his emaciated forearm and gave it a tight squeeze, grinning. ‘I’s your guardian angel, me. Saved you from hurt three times now, hasn’t I?’

‘No need to keep a tab,’ he muttered. ‘Anyhow, that third time doesn’t count. Was you who put me in that position in the first place.’

He spotted a shadow detach from the wall nearby. Shoving Tezcat behind him, he grabbed his crossbow from where he’d set it on the ground. At this range, he would kill his target without question. Well, fine, no point kidding myself. Perhaps not kill whoever it was, but seriously wound. It was a small crossbow, after all, one of two in existence. What if I shoot whoever it is in the face? Yeah, that might work. If he could aim straight.

‘Threads,’ cried Tezcat, ‘no!’ She rushed to place herself in his way, waving her arms. ‘He’s a friend.’

Two feet in height, the shadow materialised into a cloaked figure holding a rotten branch like a staff. It emitted a series of growls as it hobbled towards them. Nothing of its features was visible.

Threadfin took a step back from them both. He kept the weapon aimed at the creature’s head while at the same time clutching the lumpy crucifix at his neck. ‘What are you doing with one of those?’

She glanced down at the creature, which was hugging her right leg. ‘Tis just a mongrel.’

‘I know what it is. What are you doing with one?’

‘I like him.’

‘Listen,’ he said, taking a moment to calm himself. ‘You know they’re not liked around here. Damn pests eat all the food, not that nobody’s got much.’

‘But you don’t cares ’bout breathers? Why you cares what they eat?’

‘They give us a bad name, well, a worse one then what we already got. You know there’s fools think we and mongrels are all the one.’

‘You mean they gives you a bad name. I doesn’t gots a name. There’s no other undeaders about here I’ve never seen but us.’

‘That’s aside the point, Cat. They finger anything they get their claws on. It’ll rob you blind soon as you turn your back.’

‘They is nothin’ but tall tales and you knows it. I heard they’s good with words and stuff. Capital uses them as scribblers and so does them Church paladins. Bet he’s smarter than you. Not his fault he’s down on his luck.’

‘The word is, scribes.’

‘What I said weren’t it, scribblers.’

‘Look, Cat, people around here don’t like paladins. They hoard all the money and everyone else gets nothing. It means folk don’t like anyone who works for them. Breathers take notice of your friend, and they might just notice you. Besides, you don’t know where it’s been.’

‘Don’t knows where you been, but that don’t bothers me. And I doesn’t see how he’s different from any o’ us.’ She’d folded her arms, a scowl on her face. He knew the look well. His sister had worn the same when being just as grolg-headed. It was the way of women, living or undead. ‘What’s your problem, anyways?’ she huffed. ‘Since when you cares what breathers think? We steal too, doesn’t we?’

‘We don’t have much choice.’ At least, I don’t.

‘Neithers does he.’

‘We take from those who got it at least, and then most often when they’re cold and stiff.’

‘You’re colds and stiff.’

The creature uttered a growl and stamped its staff as though cursing him with a spell. Probably was. He took a few extra steps back. He still hadn’t lowered the crossbow, ready to shoot if it turned on her. None knew what mongrels did, nor much of anything about them. They appeared to understand human language but none, living or undead, knew theirs. That they were intelligent and crafty was enough for him. His sister’s mongrel had been just as bad.

She bent down and whispered to it. It turned about and hobbled into the shadows, and then he lowered the weapon. ‘Found it hurts a few weeks back. Twas dying, Threads. I think mayhap Sprog feels he owes me.’

‘You named it, Sprog?’

She stepped closer to gawk at the loot remaining in his hands. ‘Nothin’ good?’

‘Here,’ he said, passing her the ring with a fat red stone. ‘Trade this, but be careful where and to who, and keep it away from the mongrel.’

‘Paladin Ralan comes once a month lookin’ about. Stupid do-gooder’s rubbish for the Church, I guess. Boughts a silver locket off me once and a necklace I filched from the Glut. Looks at me all weird like he knows stuff, but he pays good.’

‘Be careful of him. A breather like that could turn, and don’t settle just because you’re hungry, you hear? You won’t get full value, but worth least a hundred scrips this. Hold out for seventy.’

Virals ate sea grasses mostly, sometimes molluscs and fish too. Something in seafood helped keep the rot at bay, not that he knew what it was. Lame, however, wasn’t near the sea and kale was getting expensive. Buying it at all was risky. There were folks who knew about their needs, not many, but some. The exemplars certainly knew. Viral children needed to eat kale daily, grinding it into a mush with other seafood to make what he’d taken to calling, guck. At Tezcat’s age, she needed it four times a week and Threadfin stole what he could.

She examined the ring in the dying light. ‘What’s got you robbin’ the deads, anyhow? Nots seen you doin’ that in years. Thought you was movin’ up in the world, like you always gobs about?’

‘I have commitments, and Crawl’s blackened my name. You know, since the, uh, outbreak.’

She slipped the ring safe within her coat. ‘I didn’t do nothin’, I didn’t.’

He gave her a hard stare until she looked at her feet. ‘You’re a special one.’ He touched her cheek. ‘Don’t worry about it. It’s going to be okay. He’s forgotten about it by now I expect.’ Not bloody likely. ‘I’ll find a way out for the two of us.’

‘Three o’ us.’

‘Eh?’

‘Sprog, he’s coming too.’

Threadfin groaned.

‘When we going? Where? Soon? Can we goes south? I always dreamt o’ seeing the Gulley. Nevers saw a wall that tall afore. We’ll see giants, I bet. I heard they’s got wings, right? Can they fly? I bet they can’t, but then whats they gots wings for? You never saw a giant? Hey, you listening?’

Muttering under his breath, he then said, ‘Well, as to all of that, I got word from Crawl an hour ago.’

‘Don’t goes back,’ she begged in a soft voice. ‘I doesn’t trust him. He’s nots who he says, I bet.  I always had a feelin’ about him. You don’t needs him, anyhows. We done fine by ours own. Let’s just go.’

He tried his, no nonsense, I mean business, face. ‘This has nothing to do with you, understand? I’m just telling you out of courtesy, case anything happens.’ He softened his tone a little. ‘Look, I don’t have much say in all this. If I did, I wouldn’t be here in the first place. It’ll be okay.’

‘Who’ll watch yours back?’ she whispered, looking crestfallen.

‘Promise me you’ll stay out of the way this time. I don’t need a bodyguard.’

‘I’s not a bodyguard,’ she whispered. ‘I is yours guardian angel.’ She turned and walked away.

The rogue had no one else. Not that he was much, but he feared for her. Last time was too close for comfort. The prime had been a bit upset about it. He hadn’t found a safe way to help her escape yet, but he would.

He glanced back at the woman’s corpse and saw it move. ‘Cat, you still messing about back there?’ He took a few steps away and searched for sign of the girl. No, she was gone. He turned back to study the corpse. The woman’s body was still again. Was he imagining it? He stepped closer, wary. The body was motionless, but within the half-frozen puddle she lay in, her reflection wasn’t. Too late, he failed to avert his gaze.

The reflection’s eyes opened and sought him out. It tried to speak, hands reaching for him from the water, seeking his help. The reflection, however, wasn’t of the cadaver at his feet.

It was of his sister, Aiyana.

Within the puddle, polluted by blood and mud, he saw a gigantic creature cloaked in flame, clawed hand reaching towards her. He could tell its size from what was around it. Perhaps twelve feet tall, the dark giant stood within the shattered walls of a city. Bodies lay in piles at its feet. Aiyana turned to face it, standing her ground resolute and stubborn as always. Beside her, another figure formed, blurry, though it looked feminine. The figure stabbed his sister through the chest with a shining blade. Threadfin cried out.

The vision faded, coalescing into another, this of a dark-skinned woman he didn’t know. She gestured at him, urgent, before the vision melted away.

Threadfin forced his gaze from the water. You should know better, he chided himself. Reflections were dangerous things. Turning, he fled from the docks into an alley and out onto the dark streets of Lame.