4 A Strange Illness

A CALLUSED HAND GRIPPED his jaw and forced his mouth open. Threadfin wanted to tell whoever it was to go kiss the Grim’s hoary backside, but managed a mumble instead.

‘Bite on this,’ said a familiar voice. His teeth grated on wood, but a spasm forced his jaw to clench. ‘You must bite down. Else, it’ll be your tongue, or whatever you call that rotting thing in your head.’

‘Wouldn’t mind a bit of quiet around here,’ said another voice a little further away. ‘I thought the dead were meant to be silent? He makes more noise than a buggered darag.’

A weight descended on him as a body half straddled Threadfin’s waist. Cold fingers gripped his skin. He felt for the silver lump around his neck, gripped it tight. He was on his back on a straw filled mattress.

‘Open your eyes,’ ordered the voice. Hot garlic breath washed over him. ‘Fight it, you stupid grave maggot.’

‘Don’t bother,’ said the other. ‘You know, these walking stiffs never did sit right with me.’

‘Shut your gob, Pods.’

‘I can’t,’ Threadfin mumbled, tossing his head, ‘... do this.’

‘Listen up, worm breath. Open them eyes or I’ll thrash you within an inch o’ your half-life. Look at me.’

A face covered in dirty whiskers came into focus, pale and stretched, older though not old, fifty or thereabouts. Ludwole Felps, a minder who made his existence a misery. A former soldier of the Actaeon Guard it was said. Threadfin’s father had chosen both condemned men from the dungeons, a guarantee his disowned offspring would remain forgotten. These men would face worse than a dungeon if they revealed his true nature, identity, or whereabouts.

‘Now, bite on this until the fit passes.’ Ludwole forced the peg between Threadfin’s teeth.

His other minder hovered close. A man over forty, Podral Pole was lean with filthy brown hair, and a livid scar from the corner of his right eye to his chin. Like Threadfin, he was a thief, although by choice. Not that he bothered with the trade anymore. Why risk capture when they had an undeader to do it for them? Sit back and get rich doing nothing. ‘Might be he’ll swallow his tongue and choke. Do us all a favour. Look, why don’t you leave it to me? I’ll take care of it.’

Ludwole grunted and spat, turning to regard his companion. ‘Keep it up and I’ll cut out your tongue and use it to gag this piece o’ grolg dung. Don’t you go forgetting the last time you crossed me, because I haven’t.’

‘Hey now, what did I say? Just making observations. You’re always telling me to keep my eyes open, aren’t you?’

The old soldier turned his attention back to Threadfin with a snarl. He leaned in close. ‘What you get for us this time? A few useless rocks some nag bought cheap the edge o’ the Glut, and a fancy clock? What good are you to me sick, eh? Now listen up, you useless sack o’ bones. You’re goin’ to survive this because I’m not done gettin’ rich. If I has to watch over your miserable hide, then I should at least get smothered in gold dralans. By the by, that fancy bow o’ yours is mine, and that weird dagger. Holding out on us weren’t you. Let’s call them part payment on what you damn well owe.’

Threadfin groaned, and not because of the pain, which had eased a bit. He always hid his crossbow and blade before coming to this villa. He liked that crossbow. Hard to come by. At least his mind was clearer. Maybe he could get his stuff back before Felps sold them, if he could get up and move.

Dust dribbled from wooden rafters above as the villa quivered from a mild earth tremor. There had been many of those since their arrival a decade ago, but Threadfin had grown up with tremors, which were worse closer to the capital. Anyhow, they never bothered him, and few were strong enough to raise an eyebrow at, save that one a few years back when thousands had perished near Byrsa.

Candle and torchlight sputtered throughout the airy villa as the room suffered another shake. The thief sounded as though he was praying.

‘Pods, quit that mutterin’ o’ yours. There’s none up there, or anywhere else, who’ll listen to the likes o’ you.’

‘You’ve seen what happens. You’re not blind, man. Might be, you’d be better off troubling yourself with a few supplications of your own. Can’t hurt, can it? I’ve never seen grave spawn do anything like that afore. A few prayers can’t hurt.’

‘There’re fleas on that parchment you call a hide who’ve a better chance o’ being heard. Now, shut it.’

‘Is he worth it?’ Pole demanded with a snarl, coming closer. ‘Don’t know half what you think you do. Do him and let’s get going. The lad’s had a foot in the grave since day one, so what’s the difference?’

Threadfin tried to grab the old soldier’s arm, while forcing out the peg with a leathery tongue. He felt a strength in his body return, alien and frightening. ‘I have to get back to Icarthya. Listen to me ... I’ve seen it.’

Ludwole stepped back from Threadfin’s hand. He stared at him with an unreadable expression.

‘Come on, Lud,’ urged the other thief. ‘The garrison don’t care what happens to him. No one does. If we’re questioned, we can say he tried escaping. We’d no choice, with heavy hearts and all that shit. Imperial orders, right? Besides, I’m sick of these damned tremors. I want to go elsewhere where the ground stays still.’

‘I can’t help her ...’ Threadfin’s skin was slick with sweat, as his affliction worsened. It had done that a few times now. He’d lost count. He was useless, no, worse than that, a freak. Couldn’t do anything for his sister. Pole was right. Perhaps the world would be better off. Then again, he doubted the world would notice.

Ludwole appeared to be listening. Threadfin thought he saw Pole’s hand holding a bronze dagger. He was hiding it from Ludwole’s view, or was Threadfin delirious again? Was he going to kill him if Felps didn’t? A small dagger wouldn’t do it. Need a bigger blade to decapitate him. Yes, feeling delirious.

‘It’s our chance to be free men again,’ continued Pole, ‘to go where we please. We’ve saved enough loot. You look worn out. There’s a bit of the Valtari red left. I’ll take care of business here.’

Ludwole’s hand went to the bone hilt of an iron short sword at his waist. Now, that would do the job. One cut to the neck, two, and Threadfin’s worries were over. The old soldier’s knuckles whitened as he stared at his associate. Then, at last, he turned his gaze on Threadfin. ‘You’re a pox on us all, Todder, like the rest o’ your family, but I’m done with that city. There’s no going back. You’re stuck with us, like it or no, my prince.’

‘Don’t call me that. I don’t ... deserve it.’

‘No, you don’t, no more than you deserve us, but you’re stuck with us and us with you. Hell’s wrath on us all is what you are.’ Then he turned to face Pole again, his hand still on his sword hilt. ‘And as for you, you’ll do as I say.’ There was an edge to his tone. ‘You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to—’

Threadfin let out a wail. It felt as if someone had split his bones to the marrow, eating away at his body and soul.

‘A pox on it, it’s happening again! Here, bite down.’

‘Oh, divine angels above,’ prayed Pole. ‘The lad is dark business if I know anything. I mean, look at him. What is that black stuff?’

Fluid-like and blacker than pitch, whatever it was it oozed from every pore and opening. Threadfin had seen it before. It writhed and pulsed as though living. Maybe, he reasoned, as though analysing it all from a distance, and perhaps still feeling delirious, it’s my dead half.

‘Fetch some sheets,’ Ludwole ordered. ‘Cot’s soaked.’

‘Don’t have any of those. Looks like he’s rotting away right in front of us. Although, he was a bit ripe to begin with if you ask me. Whatever that black wet stuff is I can see myself in it.’

‘Rags then.’

‘None of them either. Used the last wiping my arse an hour ago.’

‘Bite, damn you.’ Ludwole tried shoving the peg back between his teeth, but Threadfin turned his head away. The pain was growing beyond bearable limits as the second skin formed.

‘Folk’ll hear your screams,’ he hissed at Threadfin, ‘and them soldiers what’s patrolling out there. It’ll make things worse if they discover you like this,’ and he thrust the stick into Threadfin’s mouth, jarring his worn teeth.

‘Pods,’ he growled, ‘get out o’ here if you aren’t gonna be o’ use, and warn me if anybody takes interest in this villa.’

‘Nah, think I’ll stay.’

‘Oh, for the love o’... get over here, then. Hold his legs. I swear the rubbish he brings back isn’t worth all o’ this.’

Threadfin’s vision blurred. He felt them hold him as he kicked and flailed. He heard Pole curse in that colourful manner, and for a weird moment, felt like laughing. The situation was absurd.

In his peripheral vision, there was what looked like a second skin around his naked body. His shadow extracted itself, no longer wanting any part of him. Well, if his own shadow wanted up and off, that said it all. By then, he knew he was screaming but a part of him felt separated from it all. Yes, he felt like laughing. The detached part did at least. The stick wedged between his teeth turned shrieks into muffled wails. His withered body convulsed. It was hilarious.

Thunder rumbled above and beneath. Thumps and snarls echoed in his ears, but he was too terrified to imagine their source. Opening his eyes, he saw the echo of a head in his peripheral vision.

The trunk of this darker Threadfin extruded itself. As the head began to rise away from his own, he thought he saw horns, though no other features were visible. Were those wings? His flesh appeared to swell as his reflection gained substance. It no longer looked like Threadfin, but like a beast. The two men were no longer holding him, but standing back, wide-eyed. Pole was muttering again. Threadfin saw shadowy wings swiping the air. It all appeared to him as though seen through a dirty warped mirror.

Then, it was over. The apparition deflated, collapsing into him. It surprised him his guardians remained at all. Anyone else would’ve fled hours ago.

As soon as he was able, it was exactly what he planned to do.