‘Age on age, ceaseless, unending. Forsaking a way, grasping at the dark in search of light. A freedom to promise choice aplenty, and light to blight their veil of unwisdom: Man lauds my serene in compliance, and their care now, is mine as well.’
At the break of the tavern songs; Imrus woke to a bustle from many leagues away pulling him back into the waking nights, the familiar wretch air carried. Nights’ come calling. He looked uncertainly to the steel drum at the corner of his den; felt a pulse coursing through him, it had been a year since but the feeling never waned. With moonlight streaking through the missing slats in decrepit shutters, after moments of consideration he began stretching out limp muscles, he would need to be as limber as he could tonight.
The day was no time for self-respecting rouges, whores, nor cutthroats to be about. No, the day was the snipes’, the marks’, and the real nasty folks-ones to murder scores with a whisper, quill, and splash of ink-and being a far thing from the snipe and mark, and so too, nowhere near the black-hearted hogs who ran the Penns. He settled for the shit-stained nights air; the dagger drawn looks. These things, one could always trust.
Pennaeth: Heart of Kholinar; if you were Noblesse. But down the shanties, people knew her by different names. The Penns; since no one ever seemed able to escape her alive, only ever culled in the end. But Imrus knew her by one more fitting: The City of smells. And for good reason; the hundred smells of The Penns were of few friends left to speak much truth. They gave priceless insights into what is, what was, and what to come.
The stench of waste in the air told of a day mundane. One of gunpower was a tell the Marshals were underway and or about. Fine herbs; inferred happy Noblesse or well-stocked Merchants. Ash; Ash-babies or Kittens; often after a whoring. Blood; was likely Ghouls. And bread; sweets and freshly baked, told of a last meal.
Imrus was quick to jump off the hard wood floor, but careful not to wake the younglings, the delicate deadly deed of speed, stealth, and silence beaten into him by an all too unforgiving teacher. He picked his best and only pair of boots so freshly swiped of hazed Noblesse feet it still smelled of scented leather oils and was in dire need of breaking. A good night and an important day it was, and Imrus had to look his best. Slipping into his outworn overcoat-the preferred habits amongst thieves -he secured his knives and walked through the rundown buildings’ window; or doors, wholly dependent on its use-and into the night cheering all the boys keeping the nightly watch.
The Penns truly came alive in the dark, the same is often true for people as well. The day was for masks, but night? Night, was for the man who hid behind masks.
The racy songbirds sang the taverns senses and coin away as he walked by them, the alley cats hunted straying cocks who ought good-well be cooped alongside their loved ones. Imrus breathed deep taking in the foul, the acrid, the sweet strong myrrh and sandalwood, and the slightly tang. Yes! Night was the time to be alive, the time to find true camaraderie in all debauched.
The Port lampposts burned noxious green all through and away the dark chill of the docks, lighting way for Imrus to navigate through dogged Ash-babies looking to rob, fuck, or suck for a fix, prowling kittens hungry for the next paying Mutt to take them out the chill-the one long silken dark hair and green-eyed stealing his gaze with subtle inviting gestes for more moments than liked. And the shadowed alleys.
He’d seen sloppy sets of eyes trailing his steps since they made it on the hard wood, and made to avoid their path, their steps could do with more slink; a hard lesson for the lucky few. Imrus had once too been the eyes peering from the dark, the memories of the times were held both fondly and rueful in fair measure as it on many days saved him at the cost of another. Leave the toads to their ponds. Imrus thought, thinking it shameful to steal the same from them.
Halfway to the wrought-iron gates that marked the docks entrance, he had artfully misplaced his pursuers; taking the time to make sport of it, and now he was far spent on time. Imrus peeped the discarded heap of rags that was actually a man; perhaps not even that anymore: a leper, hence the Penns permitting he keep the excess wrapped firmly about himself. Listening for steps, and deciding the prowling eyes had given up the chase, he let the single Sov fall from his pocket and crinkle to the heap. For a time touching anything to do with a leper was sure a way to earn yourself the scabs; the smoke from setting them to fire was rumored to spread the blight faster, and drowning them risked the fish nibbling on sick flesh. Complete rubbish both were. But the Penns came to the surmise to let the disease take them instead and all since the time of the plague had perished, all but the leper who manned the dock gates.
‘This is all wrong! Never been too smart to show in Ghoul territory, less so, Knoll’s line. No shame in admitting that much. No shame in turning back.’
Men all here then? Imus thought, hearing the argument ensue. Banging his fist in practiced pattern against the door, he called out, ‘Ey, won’t let the chill get me will ya?’ After a cautionary moment the gruff voice answered from the other side of the gates. ‘Got half the mind to do just.’
‘That’d be you ain’t using the good half, Carmie. Ey, Darse, be a dear and lemme in’ fore my balls funk. Might be needing them when we get back.’ Imrus listened to the whispers in the chill-swearing to get a beast soon as the tamer brought in new stock.
‘We coming back from this, aye! All of us, my meaning not just tonight?’ Darse asked, her voice firm and impassioned, no doubt listening for slightest quiver of uncertainty in his voice.
‘Aye, Darse, on my name I’ll bring us back from this. Now, lemme talk to Carmie will ya?’
Imrus heard the bolts snap loose, and the door whine open to a brown-haired woman with shortcut hair in dark leather jerkins and breeks, and a short-sword ridding on her hip blocking his way. Her shoulders broad and muscles lean, and her eyes clear and a steady sharp brown that was almost black, the ex-Marshal hadn’t let herself waste in peace times.
‘We shits better be coming back you hearin’ me boy,’ she said, ruffling Imrus’ hair. He hated when she did it but it was worth the smile it put on her. ‘Might be we could leave Carm, he done a fair bit of livin’ eh?’ She laughed letting him through.
‘Big promises, eh?’ he heard as the door shut behind him, ‘Sure you should be making’ em? We know the risks, we showed up. It goes to shits, ain’t on you.’
‘And this why you can’t keep a girl, Preach,’ Imrus appreciated the thought, but if the night did go to shits, he would never forgive himself if he lived through it, ‘You’re too damn grim.’ Preach shrugged, returning his attention to the clinking sounds in his hands.
‘Cant’s wait to smells the loaf.’ Bruiser said hugging the little man. ‘It’ll taste even better, Bruiser. But thinking a wash afore wouldn’t be the end for you.’ Imrus said prying himself away from the foul-smelling giant.
‘So, we doing this then?’ the gruff voice sounded, unimpressed by the warm welcome.
‘The word’s good. Nevy got it off her girls.’
‘Not Nevy I don’t trust.’ Carm eyed Imrus.
‘Sigh! Carm, you have to be the oldest yellowest cunt I know. No barb Darse.’
‘No skin. Seen a good lot of cunts in my life, and I’m thinking you ain’t wrong.’
‘Don’t worry; the Men'll get your stones back from Nevy,’ Imrus did enjoy teasing Carm, it was the only thing that got his head right. ‘Soon as we done here.’
CRASH! Came the sound of Carms’ fist shattering a sturdy wooden crate. ‘Ey! The aims’ to be quiet, ghouls be lurking.’ Imrus hissed, trying to pacify the enraged man. ‘Name my wife again, I fucking dare you. You think us daft? We all know this is for Istvan, so let it just be that.’ Carm growled low, stepping up and looking down at Imrus. There he is! There’s the lad we need. Rage over fear any day. Easy for Men to be forgetting themself these days, more when they got stuff to lose. We won’t let you Carmie, you ain’t no damn coward.
‘Alright! Alright, sorry lad, just had to pull out the iron in your eye,’ Imrus said waving an arm to calm the tension, this wasn’t a good time for infighting. ‘Looks to me they sharp enough to skin a rat, just remember to look’em the right way, eh?’ he said patting Carm on the shoulder to ease the larger man, “A bit of pride won’t kill you none, too. We Redcaps for piss fucking sake, act like it. We not hitting a Ghoul, that’d just be lazy, and we be a lot of things, but we ain’t lazy. We burning their fucking Ash.’
Imrus took a step away from him, turning as though remembering a late thought, ‘He was your friend, but he was my brother,’ he sighed fingering at a very peculiar hilt sticking out his coat, ‘There’s blood to be paid. But this isn’t that.’ He finished, the steel coming into his eye.
‘It’s shit like this that keeps Nevy up,’ Carm sighed, ‘She thinks I’m just making the runs. Damn it, Imrus if something…’ Carm groaned, rubbing at his temples, but the pulsing wasn’t stopping ‘You got the wrong on this one, Imrus. Preach! tell’ em. This shit’s all fucking unhinged, eh?’
‘You got the wrong of this, Imrus. This shit’s unhinged.’ Said the lean lamppost lad, through clicking sounds and a heavy slice of derision to go with his even tone, his focus solely on replacing the bullets in his pistol chamber.
‘Damn, Tink!’ Carm spat, ‘Ey! Bruiser, what you got to say in this?’
Bruiser, the big-man of the crew eyed Carm for a heartbeat before speaking, ‘Been needing to dust more these days, truth’s ghouls getting bold, Carmie. That’s the thing with peace, too much of it, an’ everyone be forgetting the cost for it. But’ fore any more damned Ghouls be forgetting Ash don’t fly in Cap territory, a few deadly reminders seem…right in order, no?’
‘Good man! A damn poet, I got a bowl of grain for Bodi after,’ Imrus cheered, happy that even the crackbrained breacher got it. How’d some girl make Carmie this yellow? ‘Quit this piss about, this ain’t up for votes. You in or out?’
‘This funny, eh? ‘YOU IN OR OUT?’, Carm set his jaw and clenched his fist, he watched everyone ease themselves-hands reaching for weapons-Sigh ‘Now that just ain’t fair.’ He finished releasing his fist with the sigh. ‘I been dusting since you lot were suckling, dusted sense into all you lot, some more’an once.’ He eyed Bruiser and Imrus ‘Think I gone yellow, well might be I did. You lot don’t got’ nothing to live for is why death don’t be scarring you, but I got a baby coming.’
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‘Sigh! Who you think we doing this for, Carm?’ Imrus said tiredly, ‘I’ll be damned before that little bugger grows up looking over for some damned Ghouls, so again, you in or out?’ Imrus finished tiredly, Carm just laughed, but none of it reached his eyes.
‘Ey! Carmie, we need you steady or not at all.’ The crew gave Carm the look an old prized fighting rat got. This was a terrible idea and everyone fucking knew it. But the Ghouls were getting bold, that needed answer.
‘This is all so fucking unhinged. We be in Ghoul territory, we got less men, might even end up... So why not have the fucking laugh, eh? Sides, we damn sure got unhinged of our own, that’s to count for something, eh, Madcap.’ Carm said, a hand on Imrus shoulder. And suddenly he wasn’t Carm anymore, he was the Bloody-Duster, the last Madcap of the Redcaps. The man who’d taught him to dust, the one to pull him out the deep when his brother died.
‘Thanks for setting me straight, might be I’ve been too peace-drunk to see the signs,’ Imrus starred a while then smiled, meeting the older man’s eye.
‘Better Peace-drunk’ an Punch-drunk, eh?”
Carm burst out laughing, only realizing himself soon after, gagging his mouth in his hands, ‘Hardly, and I’m likely both, ’ he said through the final throes of laughter, “This is my last run. Nevy needs her man, the kid’ll need a father. I don’t know nothin’ about’ nothin but being a duster, got some learning to do. So, this is it for me. Any complaints, Boss?’
It took him a bit for Imrus to find his tongue ‘You done yours, old rat, the young’ll need tellings of our own.’
‘This’ grand ‘an all, but Veena sees a boat coming and we wasting moonlight.’ Preach says passively, finally holstering his pistols. And Imrus silently envied his beast.
‘Then I guess we doing this?’ Carm asked a final time.
‘Guess we are.’
‘Good. Saves us on murdering the cunts later.’ Bruiser said, an unhealthy grin cutting across his face. ‘Keep it in your pants, won’t be culling too many Ghouls, mostly Ashman heavies on the boats. But can’t say nothing for tomorrow.’ Imrus tried to keep his teeth from showing but that just makes the smile quiver madly, as the boat came to dock.
‘Masks up lads,’ At the word the caps donned deep red cloths over their heads spotting round holes for eyes, ‘Can’t be no mistaking who done’ em.’
Moments later before the boat lanterns got clear enough from the fog to cast a shinning on the docks, the caps since found refuge in dark nooks. Bruiser took point, Preach the rear. None of them would be stepping a foot of the docks.
Imrus counted half a score of Heavies get off the boat, hard to tell who the Ashman was in the dark but it was a big shipment to stack up on Heavies, so likely, the Ashman would be here in person to watch the trade-off go clean. All said, it wasn’t a bad number, they done worse.
Imrus waited as the Heavies flickered their lanterns to sign the lurking Ghouls, his muscles cramping. He hated the wait, a thousand thoughts breezed in and through his mind an instant on how the dust would go, and the urge to pull on his knives, the familiar feel of his cold companions was all the more tempting. But he been in enough of them to know the sounds of a blade drawn too early, a pup mistake and likely what Heavies worth their scabs were listening out for, and plans always went to shit with the first punch so the trick was to leave room for the unexpected, to be the unexpected. And far as the trick went, Heavies were no wiser. But that said nothing for the dozen Ghouls panning out.
‘Shit!’
‘I know.’
‘Shit! Shit!’
‘I know. I know, now quit the croaking,’ he whispered to Carm, ‘As I see it, your last dust’ll be one for the tellings, if you lucky to get rust the off.’
‘I’ll be sharper in the ground than your best day,’ Carm retorted, insulted at the thought he might be rusted, but worried even greater this was the truth of it, peace had its way of dulling men. ‘Still leaves too many of’ em, and too little of us.’
‘Can’t help it if you got shit luck.’ At that imrus began his ball-feet dash into the mob. Shit! He thought he heard the faint cry but he was underway, Heavies and Ghouls no wiser. By the time the first Ghoul thought to a glance the errant shadow, realization coming slow. Drawing his knives coated in tar to dull the sounds and dodge the light, and freshly sharpened, the ghoul had only time enough to raise a finger before the blades extended through his throat in a gushing fountain. The shock of the situation buying Imrus much-needed heartbeats to spin a blade from the falling ghoul into a reverse grip, and replace it into the temple of a dumbstruck Heavy. THUMP! He went down hard and quiet.
The surprise died with roiled lad pooling the docks red, his hands failing at stopping the flow. Imrus laughed, jumping into a run for the shadows as weapons flew their sheets and holsters, the beating steps on the docks gaining ground. BANG! BANG! BANG! The soft explosions sounded with the THUMPS! of three bodies falling to the wooden floors, a leaking red-black impression between the eyes, the staccato sound calling for fall of more bodies from both sides, but bodies fell only on the one.
Imrus ducked, rounding a sharp bend coming up against a solid fence too high to scale in a leap, trapped between a wall and a mob of ghouls and Heavies, he extended his daggers.
‘Looks we got a rat in a bucket, eh?’ A ghoul laughed showing all nine of his yellowed teeth, ‘Let’s stick’ em over a pyre, can’t be letting’ em go to waste.’ He laughed alone, but the others shared in his thought. Three Heavies and the funny ghoul came up with swords, stabbing at Imrus with the extended reach, doing him in without getting in reach of his knives.
Imrus parried the swords the best he could, failing for a few skins. He fell into back, the very nook of the alley trapped, before a shadow dropped from the air with a loud Thump! and a wet squelching sound, loosening the ring enough for him to gain some ground. Darse pulled her tarred sword out the Heavies’ collarbone, a spurt of blood catching her in the mask.
‘Ey, what took you?’
‘Bugger it! Ain’t what I used to be,’ she said backing up to meet Imrus ‘Took a while to get up the wall.’
‘Just get to fucking culling!’
‘Aye!’ She slicked the gore off her sword, placed her heel firm against the wall, and kicked against it into the swarm.
First lessons of the Penns was knowing the difference of chasing and being herded, a lesson to mean living or dying, a lesson these men were sorely lacking to draw long swords in a tight alley. Darse came straight for a Heavy, he swung wide frantically, hopping to clip her but only managed to push back the ghouls at his side. She ducked at the last moment sliding artfully under the sword, stabbing her sword through his ribs in a little Crunch! To find the beating muscle. The man’s eyes went wide as his mouth, his sword arm limp, sword clanking on the hardwood. He was dead before he hit the ground.
Imrus threw a blade that caught a Heavy so clean in the eye, Preach would ‘be green-eyed, but he couldn’t spare the breath to be proud, two ghouls ran at him filling the space of the screaming man so he kept it for the tellings if he survived through this. Replacing his blade with another-a longer single edged knife with gold and silver filigree finished hilt and a blade that gave off pale moonlight-he parried the blades ’tip of the first ghoul to run him, cutting at the second, his pale blade effortlessly slashing through steel and bone, and with another chilling shriek the second man lost his arm below the elbow, and the first ran for the entrance; all not dead or maimed following his lead.
‘So, what now?’ Darse asked, parrying a sword for her neck, not wanting to give chase to the Heavy breaking for the entrance.
‘Hope Carmie’s not too pissed at me?’ Imrus said, and Darse tightened her jaw
‘That’s an ask-’
CRACK! The sound came from the far rear of the alley followed the familiar Thump! of limp muscle hitting wood.
‘THIS IS THE DAMN LAST TIME!’ Carm screamed, his fist blood-soaked against his spiked Dusters. The Heavies and ghouls were caught between the caps but they had them outmanned four to three asides the lying dead, and the screaming maimed.
The four broke on Carm hoping to drown him in numbers, but the older man charged in leaving a knife fighter no space to swing without gutting his man, and crashed a spiked fist into his neck. Not checking to see his end, he weaved to the side dodging and kicking the feet of a sloppy stabber and catching another knife in his spikes, twisting his fist the knife came loose but he jumped out the way hearing the stabbers charging footsteps, letting him crash edge first into No-grip, and then with the whirl on his ball, and a spiked blow to the back of the head, Stabber and No-grip went crashing down.
The first man still gurgling and painting the alley way, only a less than impressive Heavy remained, his trembling knees told the fight wasn’t in him no more, so Carm stepped out the way and let him run through.
‘Getting soft with the times, Carmie.’ Imrus whispered breathlessly, the adrenaline easing out of him.
‘Won’t get far with Preach on the lurk. Now we need a telltale, you leave any alive?’
‘I got One-hand and One-eye, not sure which’ll make it back to Knoll.”
‘Darse?’ Carm asked.
‘Cocked their toes real’ easy. Heavies not so Heavy as you remember, eh?’
Carm looked around his work, the first he’d dropped lay still on the hardwood his chest giving no rhythm, ‘Might be truth to that.’ He said, unimpressed with the situation.
‘Ey, save tellings for the taverns, nights’ not done.’ Imrus said, making his way to the mewling ghouls, his breath slow, his eyes hard, and his steps sure. ‘ON YOUR KNEES.’
One-eye managed enough to pull out the knife but the fight was out of him, ‘Won’t say nothing. Just lemme go and I’m gone and done with this shit, I swear.’ He slurred, spittle leaving his lips. He glanced at the kneeling ghoul beside him, stirring, moaning, and clutching tightly to his stump. But found only hard eyes.
‘Goodman,’ Imrus said patting his shoulder, ‘All’s I need’ for I send you off is a little telltale, eh? Can you do that?’
One-eye looked again to One-hand, but shunned his disdain, ‘I’m your man.’
‘Goodman! Goodman, now get to telling what Knolls’ got planned eh?’
‘Knoll wasn’t too sure about dealing with one Ashman on the order, and with the Marshals about he wouldn’t risk’ em all. So, he got one of ‘em to bring in the first half on the tides, the next one coming on the currents, it’ll be here in three nights. But that’s all I know I swear on me maw.’ he said frightened at the steel in Imrus glare.
‘Who’s the linkman?’
One-eye was sweating now, he bowed his head low to the ground his voice muffled, ‘Told you everything I know man, I swear it.’ His body spasming with the tears streaking down his good eye.
‘Ey, there’ll be none of that. Gave you the word I’ll be sending you off, aye?’
‘Aye!’
‘Get up and walk then,’ Imrus said, ‘Still got words with your man here, and not enough night.’
‘Aye! Aye.’
One-eye jumped-up to his feet ready to run, but with a flash of pale light he fell back to the ground with two loud THUMPS! His head rolling two steps away from his body.
‘WHEWW!’ Carm whistled low, ‘Heard the damned Noble-Iron bites clean, now I seen it.’
Imrus faced One-hand, realizing for the first time he was the ghoul with the laughs, ‘Not too bad for a barreled rat, eh?’
The boy was hardly conscious, his breathing labored, though he remained silent.
‘LOOK AT ME.’ Imrus felt the inner rage in him billow wildly. The boy raised his head, they were hard and swinging in and out of focus, red stained from burst vessels. Good!
‘Be seeing you then.’ Imrus grinned and walked out the alley, Carm and Darse in tow.
‘I get why you had to drop One-eye, but this one got hard eyes, better to finish it, eh?’ Darse said, knowing it was the enemy you left to your back that always finished you.
‘Rest might run, but he’ll get the tale to Knoll.’
‘Might be, but you’ll be killing him later sure as the shits stinks, or he’ll be killing you. And I’ll be having nothin’ to do with it, hear me?’
‘Aye, now I’ll be hearing no more of this. Let’s go see how the men fairing.’ With that, they made their way back to the others, Imrus turning and taking a final look at the boy, crouched and kneeling, but left alive. Feeling he might have made a mistake Imrus thought to turn back and finish it, but endly left it to The Penns. That was the thing about life in The Penns: No one gets out alive.
Imrus found the docks to be still as the dead, might be for the broken bodies he found loitered along the docks, Bruisers’ clubs got a fair swink out tonight. Preach and Bruiser waited by the boat and waived the clear sing when they saw Imrus and the others coming their way.
‘Who got you nicked?’ Imrus asked refereeing to the nasty gash on Bruisers’ arm ‘Even Carmie got through it clean.’
‘Sorry boss. Damned weasel hid a switchblade on him. Tried to run the boat after nicking me, imagine that.’ Bruiser looked to the very dead, finely dressed man.
‘You done’ em?’ Imrus asked, looking at the bullet wounds in his knees, the many caves into his skull as everyone did. He sparred Preach a side-glance to find a pistol’s butt drenched red.
‘That’d be Preach.’
‘Oh.’ Imrus said simply, lacking more words. ‘How’s the looking?’
‘Crates fat with Ash.’ Preach answered in casual monotone.
‘That’s good then,’ Imrus pulled his Noblesse dagger and cleaved neatly through the closest lamppost, smashing the lamp and its oils against on an open crate. The flame roared to life hungrily consuming the Ash, the wood, and the boat. The heat and light giving Imrus warmth in his heart and belly.
‘Be a shame to leave things as, eh? Preach, mind some words for the fire?’
‘Dust to dust, Ash to Ash.’ he said simply, his eyes tied to the fire. They all sparred him the briefest glance before returning to the flame.
‘Ever had the wonder Preach be fitting a Madcap nicely?’ Carm whispered the question to Imrus.
‘Only most the Penns, Carmie. Sigh! Only most the Penns.’