2 A Job Offer

THREADFIN DIDN’T KNOCK, just shoved the door open. He tried not thinking about the vision. She doesn’t need me, he thought. She made it very clear. His useless so-called talent couldn’t help anyhow. He had no fighting skills and besides which, he was two thousand miles away.

No guards as he entered, his boots thudding on the splintered wood. Was the taproom of The Willow Wand. Once a disreputable tavern and brothel, it straddled the Muck and Glut, squatting between a blacksmith’s forge and sydarag stables. The pounding ring of iron echoed through the grave quiet of the tavern. Most cities had a district or quarter named the Muck or Glut, no matter what the official name was. Simple and uncomplicated and the way he liked it.

A pity his existence wasn’t. Folks who knew him suggested he was a boil on the arses of the rich. He did like that one. Others, said he was a scoundrel or a thief, not worth spit. Then, there were the handful who held to the rumour he didn’t like, that he’d been born dead from a plague birth. Rumours like that could see someone hurt. They whispered it in dingy alleys or tar-licked taverns between slurps of ale, in stories meant to scare children abed.

Plagueborn, he thought, digging a maggot out of his neck with his fingernails. The fools believed what they heard at the pulpit, convinced by all the self-righteous slop served to them by the paladins. He flicked the maggot away, sought another. He crossed the wide room to the bar counter. The tavern wasn’t used as such now, the previous owners gone. They’d dragged a copper brazier inside, the smouldering coals giving off more smoke than heat. The hearth set in the left wall was unusable since that side of the tavern had subsided, the wall fissured. The wide brazier stood close to a blackened granite pillar while tables and chairs lay upended, most smashed to feed the flames. A lingering stink of ale soaked into the wooden floorboards combined with a stench of smoke and sweat.

The prime sat behind the bar on a stool in a sleeveless leather vest. Sores encrusted his pale-skinned flabby arms, a few weeping, others red and bulging. His greying hair was dirty with much of it hiding his face. Coal black eyes peered out beneath a wide jutting brow. His face was slick with sweat, large dark patches spreading from the armpits of his tunic. Threadfin was certain the man was descended from a Nephilim; he had to be with that face. Seventh generation, maybe eighth? He wasn’t a tall man though he was fat. Ninth, then.

‘Fin’, the prime croaked, swiping at his face with a wet rag.

‘Good to see you, Crawl,’ Threadfin muttered as he approached the crime boss. ‘You’re looking ... ah, vibrant. The healing cream I got for you working, eh? Felt bad about it, by the way. You’ve no idea; couldn’t sleep a wink, tossing and turning. A few nightmares too.’ The vision replayed in his mind but he forced it away. He was useless, pathetic. Besides, she didn’t want his help.

‘Hah!’ The older man spat pips into a clay bowl. ‘That’s good, good, seeing how your kind doesn’t need sleep and all.’ He was sucking on lemons, and held up an oversized browning wedge.

That wasn’t quite true, but there was no point arguing. ‘Ah, no, thanks, but don’t mind me. You suck away.’

Crawl’s jowls quivered as he laughed. ‘Fin’, you know you’re my favourite.’

‘Ah, no, I didn’t know that. Thought ol’ Roper had the honour. He—’

‘Roper’s dead.’

‘Oh, I see.’ He’d liked Roper. Kept to himself and did his bit, but they’d worked together a few times. Straight up was Roper. Not a bad sort he supposed, for one of the living.

‘Nasty business; rather not talk about it.’

‘Ah,’ said Threadfin, rubbing his lacerated palms on his dirty borderlands coat, ‘you see I didn’t know I was next in line.’

‘What are you going on about?’

‘Well, apart from Roper, you never seemed to like anyone.’

‘You’ve been promoted. That’s why, right now, you’re not dead.’

‘I’m, ah, undead. You know, half dead, scourge of the earth, harbinger of doom, my kind.’

‘Good, good. You know, promotions don’t always last. You’re up and walking about, aren’t you? I can fix that. Purges did for the rest of your lot, didn’t they?’

‘Ah, you know, I might’ve read about it. Dull book, no drawings. You know, I think I’ll have a bit of that.’ He reached for a wedge of lemon, hoping for a way to distract Crawl from such thinking. He sucked on the bitter flesh, wincing at the burn on his lips. He felt his face shrivel as the full taste struck home. He fought the urge to spit it out. How did Tezcat even stand them? Well, best be polite and all. He tossed the rind away with a nervous flick and wondered if he’d be able to speak again. His mouth felt as though it had shrivelled to nothing. Hell’s Teeth, but I hate lemons.

‘Tis a balance, you see,’ said Crawl, spitting pips. ‘Knowing which ones should live and which should not. I like balance. You understand balance, Fin?’

There was a movement of shadows beyond the light of the brazier, from a stair in the corner. A moment later, a powerful hand touched his shoulder, another tugging the crossbow and curved dagger free. They even took the bolts. Thank the Spectrum above he’d hid his loot before coming. Those other two wouldn’t have appreciated his returning empty handed.

A sore burst on Crawl’s left cheek, spraying pus. The lemons must’ve been having an effect. ‘Weren’t planning to shoot me now, were you Fin? Not friendly, no not at all.’

‘Ah, um,’ he managed to say, working the taste out of his mouth, ‘I hear you’ve a job going?’ Either there’s work or they plan to terminate my ... his sister’s face, interrupted his thoughts. He stomped on the image. I can’t help her. Hell’s Teeth, she told me she didn’t need me. Fair near screamed it at him.

The guard – Threadfin started upon noticing the hooded man’s huge size – handed the crossbow to the prime, who examined it. ‘Worth a bit is this, I’d wager,’ said Crawl. ‘Atlantian work, isn’t it? Light and compact if not very powerful. Need to be up close and personal to kill. An early example, I’ve no doubt. What they call a prototype I believe. Yes, I can see its potential. You know, I heard once they made a Fire Stick. A big long metal tube it was. I even got to see drawings. Never learned what it did. Worst thing could’ve happened that island vanishing. All them contraptions of theirs lost for all time, enough to make an old man weep.’

‘Ah, the job ...?’

‘Where was I now?’ continued Crawl, wiping his large forehead. ‘Oh yes, they disappoint me, you see. I give them a job, from the endless goodness of my heart, and they botch it. I don’t get any scrips. I do get a whole lot of grief. I don’t like grief. You like grief, Fin?’

‘Ah, well, see ...’

‘Roper died from grief. Terrible business it was.’

Now what was that supposed to mean? ‘Okay, I see you’re angry with me. Just wait a sec, and I, ah, I can explain all—’

‘Ten paladins have the pox, Fin. Not one, not three, not even five. Could’ve lived with five, could’ve handled five, could’ve explained five. Ten. There were only eleven in the city to begin with. Two months and it hasn’t cleared up, three of the bastards at Grim’s gate, not that anyone will miss them.’

Breathers. They could all choke, burn, or whatever was quickest. What did he care if they were ill?

‘Worse, tis spreading from the Glut out here to the Muck.’ Crawl scratched at another sore on his nose. ‘Yet, while you were achieving that, you failed to complete the job I sent you for.’

Threadfin found himself staring at the sore on Crawl’s nose, though it disgusted and horrified him. It took every ounce of strength to pull his gaze away. ‘Uh huh,’ he muttered. ‘Well, was just one of those things. You know how it is. Slip ups happen, and it all bursts apart.’ It was a real effort not to wait for the boil to pop. Looked like it would ... any second now.

‘Our mutual benefactor wants your head to adorn his mantel, for parties and such. A nice mantle, all red-veined marble. You know, the good stuff. I like a nice bit of marble. Now, I’ve faith in you and I told him that. This job will set all to rights. You will leave the brat behind this time. I warned you about her. She’s a dangerous one, and ought be put down. Tried catchin’ the bitch myself, but she’s a sly one.’

His eyes met Crawl’s then, his nervousness dissolving in an instant. ‘I’m warning you, don’t speak of her that way.’

‘Hah,’ barked the old crook, slapping the bar and popping sores on his hide with the effort, except the one on his nose. It was like an itch Threadfin couldn’t reach. ‘Backbone, yes, that’s what I want from you. Good, good, as long as you don’t take it too far.’ He paused, tossed a rind away and placed Threadfin’s curved dagger atop of the bar, leaning forwards. ‘Listen to me, Todder. I know you’re fond of the girl. Fine, fine, that’s your business, but you will leave her behind. Don’t think me a fool.’

Just leave her behind, he thought. Easier said than done. ‘Already sorted, knew your mind on this. I told her off. She’ll not bother us again.’ Maybe he could make this last job work. Collect enough scrips and get them both out. It would cost a lot to get out under Crawl’s nose and keep them from the clutches of the exemplars, not to mention his two guardians. He would have to deal with those two. He could use Tezcat’s talent to create a big distraction. Burn half the city down, too.

‘This goes wrong and it won’t be me you need worry about. We Muckers mean nothing to them, but your kind mean less. Officially, your lot’s all exterminated. I like that, all official and on parchment. Makes employing you easier. But remember, those redcloaks need just one excuse. You know who holds them back, but do you know why?’

Threadfin shrugged.

‘Because you’re useful, and maybe he’s a soft spot for you. Do as you’re told, do all the dirty work in their power games, take all the risk while keeping their hands clean. If that changes any ...’

‘Get somebody else if you don’t trust me.’ His entire life he was an outcast, hidden from notice, his true nature ignored at best. He was tired of them pushing him in all directions but the one he wanted to take.

Crawl leaned back. The stool groaned a warning beneath his weight. ‘Nope, no one else can do this. Believe me, I’ve thought hard on it. It has to be you.’

I bet you have you old lump of lard. He knew a trap when he saw one. All that remained were the details. What he couldn’t understand was why the trouble? Why not kill him right there and then? ‘And, if I refuse?’

‘For starters, your two friends won’t be pleased. Said you’ve not reported in days. Asked me to find you and put you to work. They don’t like losing scrips any more than I do. Lovely, how they watch over you. Nice touch. Like family.’

‘They can go right down Grim’s gullet for all I care. I’m sick of making those bastards rich, and you too.’ He felt the anger surge inside of him, and let it. He couldn’t do anything for her. To Hell’s Teeth, and down Cerberus’ hoary gullets with those cursed visions.

‘Did you know, Fin, they’ve orders to end you if you try to escape. If you did escape, one word to the exemplar guard will see you hunted across the imperium. Try getting about without a head. Mayhap you’ll keep walking but hard to see where you’re going without a head. Might be interesting to see what happens though. I love experiments. You like experiments, Fin?’

Threadfin’s guardians had twisted those orders to their own purpose, to fill their pockets, but who cared? ‘Perhaps I’m sick of this existence. I don’t fear them. I don’t fear you. Try me, Crawl.’

‘You should be careful of your words, Todder. I’m the one person who can see you out of this city nice and safe. Think on it.’ That gave Threadfin pause. It was the first time Crawl had ever hinted he might help him escape. Part of the trap, yes, it had to be.

‘Tezcat’s her name, ain’t it,’ Crawl went on, ‘the girl? Though I’ve heard, you like to call her, Cat. That’s sweet, like a pet name. You like pets, Fin? Might get me a pet of my own. I always take good care of my pets.’ The fat breather gave him a strange look then, as though he was supposed to understand.

He thought he did. Crawl was vicious in a pleasant sort of way, but still vicious. I should never have made friends with her. I’ll bring her a terrible end. ‘Okay, okay, what am I to steal this time?’

‘Oh, nothing much. A bunch of documents pertaining to Governor Paladin Rajax. They’re in a lockbox in his mansion. You have five days from midnight. Not an hour longer.’

Had he been a breather, his heart would’ve thundered in his chest. Last time was dangerous enough, the documents he’d to pilfer on the person of a paladin in the heart of the Glut.

‘Oh,’ he said, feeling angry. ‘The governor’s mansion, as in the governor of this city? The same bastard who happens to be your benefactor? The same Rajax who wants my head on his mantle? The same mansion, which is guarded by a full garrison, and here I was thinking you’d a suicidal job going. Well, what a relief.’ Not that he couldn’t do the job if he wanted to. Was a matter of principle.

‘Oh, this is coming straight from the top. Was him who requested this one, requested you.’

Even better. ‘Oh, and there I was worrying for nothing. Can I at least have my weapons back?’ He might have need of those yet.

‘Hah, hah,’ laughed Crawl, tossing him the crossbow, bolts, and blade, ‘always did like you, Fin. Be a shame to see that change.’ The prime dismissed him with a wave, and resumed sucking his lemons.

‡

AS HE SEARCHED THE city for the girl, Threadfin racked his maggot-riddled brains for an explanation. He knew the job was wrong, and Crawl had meant for him to see it. Admittedly, he hadn’t at first, but careful thinking made it plain. First, he would never have ordered such a job. Second, if he suspected Rajax of anything, he would’ve had the paladin killed. Besides, five days to do a job? Crawl knew better. Heavily guarded mansion or no, he could’ve done it in one night. No, the message was plain as the boil on Crawl’s nose, which had never popped.

He’s warning me to get out of Lame. What was going to happen in five days?

Why though, did Crawl warn him at all, and why hadn’t he spoken it plainer? Why did the prime insist he not take Tezcat with him? That last bit he was going to ignore. No, he didn’t like not knowing and ignorance was dangerous. Between that and his vision, which he tried not thinking about, he knew he needed to leave. Where would he go? Back to Icarthya?

Ahead, near the end of the street, three scruffy traders argued with a well-dressed merchant while two women entered a plain dressmaker’s shop. Closer, a beggar sat by a low wall, his useless legs half covered with a blanket, snoring. This was the edge of what Muckers termed the Glut, where fat merchants plied their wares and Church bankers stole everyone’s money.

He stumbled in the street, feeling odd. He glanced at his hands and noticed a dark ribboning beneath his skin.

His vision then dimmed as he floundered about. A blackness, like smoke, leaked through his pores and spiralled about his emaciated fingers, licking his half rotten skin. He tried to remain conscious and on his feet. He stumbled onward as a strange illness took hold.