The Chronicles of Breed Box Set Page 4

  “Only coins for Ludo?” It sighed and deposited them somewhere within its motley. “Ludo likes pretty things, likes eyeballs, and pigeon tongues, and sapphires as big as hens’ eggs.”

  “Alas, dear friend, I only have one of those and it belongs to Mother.”

  The halves continued to slowly drift apart, casually flanking me like a pair of wolves. I tried to watch both without looking like I was watching either.

  Ludo pouted and teased a lick of hair behind its ear. “Mother.” It groaned, swung away from me like a petulant child. “Mother has a bony soul, a heart of flint, a mind of knives and wasps. Stay with me, dear friend. I’ll kill you for much better reasons than jealousy.” It licked its lips.

  “It’s tempting, friend Ludo, it really is, but I’ve already kept the old dear waiting and… What do you mean ‘jealousy’?”

  Ludo tittered. “You’re a sharp cove, dear friend. You know the grip is slippery on the greasy pole of power. Old hands grow feeble, lose their strength.” It fondled its nethers suggestively.

  “Come again?” I said whilst trying neither to stare or avert my gaze.

  “Mother fears you.”

  I didn’t get a chance to answer, to say, with respect that I thought it had dropped a maundering whid and should stopper up its bunghole sharpish. I didn’t get a chance to say anything because one minute both halves of Ludo were casually gliding around the room and the next it apported.

  “Here I is,” it breathed in my ear.

  I didn’t flinch. I didn’t so much as twitch when the warty, red claw clacked an inch from my neck. Ludo giggled. The other half wandered over to the exit and clapped its hand and tentacle.

  “Dear friend is very clever,” it said from over there, and next to me.

  “I do try, friend Ludo, I do try.”

  Its clammy, human arm slithered around my shoulders. It sniffed my neck. I flinched, not because I found Ludo repulsive, who was I to talk? But because the skin and scales on my shoulder were still tender to the touch.

  Ludo noticed. “Ice burn, hmm? Has dear friend been playing kiss-chase with a dragon?” It giggled like a child.

  “Something like that,” I said through gritted teeth.

  It sniffed me like a boarhound on the hunt for truffle pigs before it grabbed my hand and tugged the strip of cloth aside. It sucked its teeth. “Dear friend is demon-marked. Dear friend is fucked.” The part that had been beside me vanished and appeared by the exit where it cozied up to its other half. It opened the door and with a flick of its claw invited me to leave.

  I obliged without hesitation. As soon as I was out, the light behind me thinned to a narrow wedge. I glanced over my shoulder. The old villain had half closed the door but was still loitering in the doorway, eyestalks bobbing in thoughtful contemplation.

  “Be well, dear friend,” it sang in tenor and bass. “But don’t come back too soon.” The door slammed, bathing me in echoes and shrouding me in shadows.

  The booming noise of the door slamming ran ahead of me, rippling ever weaker as it spread through the tunnels. It was good to be back in the sludgy veins of the city. I knew this darkness, knew the way the shadows wrapped around flesh and stone, knew every nuance of every native stench and sound. I feared no evil down here. This burrowed corpse was the only home I’d ever known and as far as I was concerned there was no better place to dwell. But then, worms like me; coves who were hooked into the arsepipe of Appleton, had a habit of elevating the feculent passages far above their inglorious purpose. I suppose I was a bit of a romantic at heart.

  Not long after leaving Ludo’s, a burst of tavern babble breached the silence, welcoming me home with raucous laughter and slurred curses. I had almost reached the Mouse’s Nest. The Inn was the epitome of dump and proudly catered to the vilest scum and most dangerous flotsam that dwelt within or passed through Appleton. The queen who ruled this benighted kingdom was the most evil, ice-hearted monster I’d ever met, and I’d parleyed with a demon, so I knew what I was talking about.

  She was known as Mother Blake or just Mother to her gang which she had imaginatively named ‘the Guild’. I was one of her Blades. That she also happened to be my birth mother was purely accidental according to the woman herself. I never met my father, a thoasa who apparently went out one day to buy a goat and never came back. I can’t say as I blamed him, Mother was a difficult person to live with.

  We did not get on, but for the most part bore the burden of our relationship with stoical and mutual disdain. After the demon, she was the very last person I wanted to see right now, but I had no choice if I was going to save my neck. By way of encouragement, I promised myself that as soon as I handed her the sapphire and she canceled the bounty, I was going to dive into a vat of cheap wine and stay there until I was entirely pickled, something which could take a while on account of my iron constitution.

  My high-spirits lasted for about another four paces which was when I caught the unmistakable whiff of failure and self-abuse. I flattened myself against the wall just before a spiral of air riffled past my face. The crossbow bolt whined like a mosquito as it sped into the gloom. I cut sparks from the wall as I swept my blades from their scabbards and peered in the direction from which it had been fired.

  About fifteen feet away, the skein of smells that were tickling my nostrils knotted themselves into a familiar lump of crap that was pressed tight against the corner of the wall. I’d wanted a legitimate reason to make Sketh bones for a long time so, in a way, I was grateful that he’d opened the account with this sorry attempt, although I could have kicked myself for not spotting the little turdling sooner.

  I growled so he could hear me. “When I catch you, Sketh, I’m going to peel your balls like a couple of grapes.” That was an exaggeration. I didn’t have the patience to peel his poxy fruits, I was just going to stab him a lot. Hero that he was, my fellow Blade ducked around the corner and ran. The wet slap of his feet receded at a pace. I followed at a walk because I knew where he was going. He kept running until he reached his destination. Soon after, a blast of conversation and the smell of stale beer billowed through the tunnels. Sketh had reached the Nest.

  4

  There wasn’t a sign above the door of the tavern, but a literal representation of the inn’s name. Set in a rusting cage was a broken human skull that had been carefully packed with rags and straw by the now long dead and desiccated rodent still curled within the braincase. Nobody had ever dared to ask Mother who the skull had belonged to on the off chance she was in the mood to redecorate.

  As well as being the only inn in the sewers, the Mouse’s Nest had the dubious honor of being the headquarters of the Guild. Mother had built both from nothing with only her wit, powerful sorcerous skills, and efficient stock management skills to aid her. I sheathed my blades. There weren’t many rules in the Guild, but few sane people entered the Nest looking like they wanted a fight. Before going in, I straightened up, loosened my neck with a quick head toss, and composed my expression to read ‘cross me and I will stab you in the face’. I’d been away a while and the heady stench of piss, pel, and beer tickled my nostrils as soon as I opened the door. I wanted to sneeze, but stone-cold killers don’t sneeze. Instead, I swaggered through the crowded bar. For the briefest of moments, I thought that news of my adventures had somehow preceded me as lags and bravos all but fell over each other to get out of my way.

  Then I remembered.

  I could tolerate the stink of the gong pots, but non-thoasa weren’t as resilient. Even down here, in a tavern in the sewers, I must have stunk. Deflated, I gathered the tattered shreds of my ego and hurried through the main bar.

  Members of the Guild tended to congregate in the dimly-lit back room of the inn. Casual drinkers were allowed but were often discouraged from staying with a polite smack in the teeth. This shady den was where deals were made, fates sealed, and the well-heeled with their faces hidden behind masks came to have awkward problems permanently solved. It was like a temple, silence ruled, except when someone came in smelling of rotted brains and fermented pigeon dung. A couple of the patrons gagged, several threatened violence. One shrank back into a curtained booth, quiet as a murderous little mouse.

  “Evening, Sketh,” I said as I strode past.

  “Er, aye. Evenin’,” he mumbled.

  I had no intention of starting anything in here, not when I was already in Mother’s bad books and besides, it was dreadfully rude to fight while people were trying to have a quiet pint, but it didn’t hurt to make Sketh sweat before I closed his account. It served the bastard right for attempting to vent me, but before I could have a short, sharp word with my brother-in-arms, I had to square things with Mother.

  The stairs down to her den were hidden at the back of the room behind a faded tapestry of an Imperial knight. The image of the armor-clad bastard was a warning to the Guild Blades of who’d come calling should they screw up. I took a deep breath. The thrill of fear I’d thought lost was now dancing light fingers up and down my spine. I pushed through the tapestry.

  Lediss was slouching at the bottom of the stairs. The door guard’s once muscular bulk hung like sacks of sodden wheat on his tired bones. The ogren glared at me, his solitary eye gleaming angrily from beneath his heavy brow. He snorted, rubbed his stomach with a grizzled paw. He’d been with Mother for as long as I could remember. The big oaf was slavishly devoted to her but hated everyone else, including me. Over the years I’d watched him slip from being Mother’s red right hand to her doorman. The next step down was working behind the bar. After that, it was sweeping the floors and emptying spittoons, and then he’d be out on his arse and prey for those with long memories and axes to grind, something which couldn’t come soon enough for my liking.

  “You stink,” he sa
id, spittle flying from his broken tusks.

  “I can wash, you, however, are always going to be an ugly, one-eyed bastard.”

  He growled. So did I. It was good to be home. The ogren shoved the door open and tossed his head impatiently. I spared him a sneer before sauntering inside. All conversation died, all heads turned in my direction.

  “Where have you been, you miserable, half-breed bastard?” said Mother.

  “Hello, Mother,” I said cheerily, even as the leaden surety of doom settled over me.

  “Don’t you fucking ‘Mother’ me.”

  Imagine a room that has been decorated by someone with a lot of money but no taste whatsoever and that would give you a fair picture of Mother’s audience chamber. It was an eclectic goulash of the most expensive and gaudy fixtures and fittings money could buy, in Appleton. Now imagine it upside down.

  Upon my arrival, Mother and I engaged in an unfortunately spiky bout of bear garden badinage. Soon after which I found myself disarmed and hanging by my ankles over the pit, suspended from a rope held by that grinning, rut-stuck bucket-fucker, Lediss.

  The pit was a sheer-sided hole that Mother had dug down into the uncharted tunnels where the dog rats lived. It had taken her months of patiently feeding the feral creatures juicy morsels of miscreant to train them to come when she called. The pit was now the centerpiece of her audience chamber, much like an exquisite crystal chandelier might be in the house of a less bloodthirsty noblewoman. Unfortunately for me, there was nothing more than the whim of a madwoman and an arthritic, one-eyed ogren between me and an unpleasantly bitey-chewy end.

  Mother sprawled across the Rat Bone Throne in her usual pose. A bird-thin leg was hooked over the arm of the glazed mountain of skulls and bones and a silver goblet hung from her bony fingers. She nailed me with a pin-sharp stare as I slowly spun to face her and her bodyguards.

  The Dumbrovski twins flanked her throne like a pair of malformed bookends. The identical goblin brothers liked to think of themselves as the killer elite of the Midnight Court. Killer elite my arse. I didn’t fear them, but I had a healthy respect for the handcannons they were carrying.

  One of the pair, Klaus I think, going by the stink of fermented fish drifting off him, tightened a sparkling zanthe crystal in the priming screw of his gun. That the weapon could blast a lead ball through Imperial plate armor at fifty paces was why I was hanging upside down over a pit of massive rats, instead of stabbing the smug grins off their faces.

  “Two days late,” Mother intoned. Candlelight etched a deep v between her eyes. Neatly coiffured waves of dyed black hair shone darkly and framed her vulpine face. Like a lot of humans, she valued her appearance as much as, if not more than, her abilities. Beside the throne, an incense clock smoldered on a cracked alabaster table. Another string burnt through and a tiny brass weight dropped into the boat-shaped metal tray, signaling the death of another hour and the approach of my demise. The next string began to smolder.

  “I lifted the fucking sapphire from a dragon, what more do you want?” I said with as much indignance as I could muster, although I admit, it’s hard to be taken seriously when you’re upside down. When I swung round to face Mother again, I saw that she was examining the stone in question.

  She slammed the rock against the arm of her throne, sending chips of rat bone flying. “You also lost my fucking shipment of pel.”

  “The fucking guards weren’t supposed to be there,” I snapped back.

  A foot of rope slipped through Lediss’s hands. Mother laughed. Some of the more sycophantic Blades joined in. Sensing a meal was in the offing, a few of the bolder rats leaped at the tail-ends of my hair spines. Mercifully I was still out of reach. Blood flows almost to the tip of each leathery strand and it damn well hurts when they get bitten or cut.

  “Guards or not, you shouldn’t have dumped my pel.” She wrinkled her nose at the huge rock like it was a turd. “This bauble will barely cover my costs, let alone compensate my clients for the inconvenience.”

  “Most of your clients don’t notice when they’ve shit themselves.” I rejoined. What was really biting her arse was that they had gone and bought their drugs off Pork Chop Jing instead of her. Angry as I was, I didn’t point this out or mention her rival’s name, not with the furry masses staring up at me, eyes bright with hunger.

  Mother tucked the sapphire into her sleeve and took an angry slurp of wine. A dribble of scarlet ran down her chin and joined the widening stain blooming on the delicate brocade of her blue satin gown. She stabbed me again with another accusing glare as hard and sharp as coffin nails. It was a solid fact that the dragon had a friendlier visage, even when it was trying to kill me.

  “If I’d have known what an utter and complete fucking lackwit I was growing in my womb, I’d have gutted myself with a rusty spoon rather than give birth.” She spat as though even the memory of my birth was distasteful. “Useless. Just like that flyblown, bastard father of yours. Two cocks and you are all he could produce!”

  Nobody in the chamber had the guts to address Mother’s willful ignorance of thoasan biology, least of all me. To emphasize her displeasure, she lobbed her goblet at my head. I was well used to such shows of affection and easily dodged the improvised missile. Lediss didn’t. The cup struck him on his blind side. He yelped, which would have been funny had he not fumbled the rope as he pawed at his injured face. I dropped another couple of feet before the fat-fingered idiot caught it. The rats screeched. I curled my body up to my knees to avoid the more athletic rodents who were scaling their companions to reach me. Backed against the walls by the force of Mother’s anger, the Guild Blades all watched in silence, except one.

  Wulfrun pushed through the ranks and approached the opposite side of the pit to Mother’s throne. The warrior from Grundvelt’s stance spoke of confidence just shy of confrontational. He was bold, but not arrogant, strong but not overbearing. He walked a fine, dangerous line with Mother, one I’d never seen any cove walk for long. As I swung between them like a pendulum, or a worm on a hook, depending on your point of view, I could almost feel my skin burn from the intensity of their staring contest. I tried to look inconspicuous, which isn’t easy when you’re six feet tall, upside down, and swinging from a rope.

  “There’s no need for this, Mo,” Wulf said. “The stone’s worth twenty times what you lost.” He had one of those voices that made you want to listen. A born leader, he was liked and hated in equal measure in the Guild, but nobody regarded him with indifference.

  He’d only been a full member for a few months but in that short time he’d made his mark and proved he was as clever as he was big, something that had fatally surprised the Blade he’d replaced. The double-headed ax strapped to his back belied his talent as a cracksman but advertised well enough that he was a more than competent enforcer, something Mother hadn’t missed. She liked him and let him get away with more than many who’d been with her for years.

  It was obvious that there was a strong, physical attraction between them from the moment they met over a pile of blood-drenched corpses and a consignment of stolen rum. He was just her type; big, muscular, and intelligent. Although, being human, I assume he only had one cock.

  “What do you suggest, Wulf?” All trace of fury left her voice and the snarl was replaced by a purr.

  “Timekeeping aside, Tails got you the stone.” He gave me a sly wink when I drifted between them on my slow, elliptical rotation. “Didn’t you tell me you had an awkward job that needed doing? Maybe it’s something Tails could do, t’ make up for being late?”

  So, they not only shared a bed, but she’d confided in him too. I felt no slight, she’d never told me anything, but there were others in the room who I could sense were recalculating Wulfrun’s worth and their relative positions in the Guild.

  Mother’s lips curled into something like a smile. She clicked her fingers and Melpinin flip-flapped from behind the throne. The amphibane’s moist skin shone like verdigrised copper in the tallow gold light that was dripping from the candelabra. A powdered wig that was made for an entirely different shaped head was perched awkwardly on his warty pate. He filled another goblet and offered it to Mother on the platter of his wide webbed hand. She snagged it without acknowledgment and took a thoughtful slurp.