CHAPTER FOUR

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They should have turned back. They still had time to turn back. But they didn’t. Greed outweighed common sense. It beckoned them. Tugged at their hopes and dreams for a better life. The coin of kings and gods could buy all of them a better life. But they weren’t satisfied with just that. At least not Shepard. He closed the door behind them. It squeaked on rusted hinges. The low sound of the lock twisting echoed through the room. The glow from the green chemical lights outside barely touched the back wall.

Hunch stayed near the door. His fat knees trembling. His meaty palms growing sweaty. He glimpsed back over his shoulder through the window. Nobody was outside. There was still a chance to turn back. He wanted to. Fear filled him with cowardice. His mind leapt to irrational thoughts. What if this place belonged to the Snatcher, he thought?

There was a wooden table in the center of the room. A chair on each end. And there was an unlit wax candle on the table. Shepard slid his hand across the tabletop. His fingers made four streaks through the dust. He wiped the dust on his pants as he walked around the table, searching the room for signs of that woman. The floorboards creaked underneath his footsteps. He stopped. Where could she be?

“We should go,” said Hunch. “I ain’t got a good feel’n about this place.”

Shepard agreed. This place gave him an unnerving chill. It reeked of danger, but also of mystery. There was more to this room. Shepard could feel it. He grabbed the candle off the table. There was nothing unique about it. He placed it down the way he found it. He walked over to the far end of the wall. The air much colder there than anywhere in the room. He placed his hand on the wall and felt around as he walked the length of the room. Nothing.

“Hunch…Hunch?”

“Shepard…”

Shepard turned around. His eyes widened. A well-dressed man, slick back hair, combed mustache, and a devilish smile, stood leaning against the table. A metal pipe gripped between his lips. The woman, Lady Maria, stood over Hunch. Her hands placed firmly on his shoulder, her fingers digging into his fat. He was looked at Shepard. Tears swelled in his eyes. His lips quivering too afraid to speak.

Both couldn’t be afraid. One of them had to stand stronger. The fear squirmed inside Shepard’s stomach. He breathed. The blood pumping through his veins, and heart thumped against his chest. He breathed. Irrational thoughts plagued by fear swarmed his mind. He breathed. His focus shifted from the woman to the man standing before him.

The man smiled. His crooked lips touched both pale cheeks. His pupils were thin slits that seemed to dilate with the beat of Shepard’s heart. Shepard opened his mouth. No words came out. The man cocked an eyebrow. He took out his pipe to talk.

“What’s the matter kid?” he asked. “Skulker got ya tongue?”

“We ain’t mean to enter ya—” Shepard looked around the room once more. “—home.”

The man laughed. Both eyebrows cocked when he looked back at the woman. “Real trickster ain’t he. Reminds me of my son long ago. A reeeeal bad liar.”

“I didn’t know your kind was capable of having children,” said the woman.

“Eh, we can’t. But I’ve seen the way ya adult males treat ya young males. It’s like how I treated the little babe. Dad and son relationship minus the birth’n part. Ya know what I mean?”

“…I guess.”

“Lady Maria, I like ya. Never fail to impress me. Glad we both find each other mutually beneficial.”

“I held up my end of the bargain,” said Lady Maria. “Where’s the book at?”

The man rolled his eyes and sighed. He’d never met a woman so serious before. Her panties probably pulled up to high. He noticed her eyes sharpened and her fingers impatiently wrapping on Hunch’s shoulders. He knew not to keep her kind waiting. Kill first and ask questions last. The only reason he’d survive so long in her presence was because he provided things for her and she provided things for him.

He took a deep drag from his pipe, his chest expanding. He exhaled thick black smoke onto the table. The smoke flowed like water and quickly dissipated, and a green scaled book appeared was left on the table. The binder was gilded. Symbols, lines connected to circles connected to squares, were imprinted on the book in blood red. He nudged the book towards Lady Maria.

“Tsar Avara,” said the man. “It means, “Recorded History,” in my people’s language. I know it doesn’t seem advanced given my people’s reputation. But pen and paper has proven reliable long after we conquered the heavens.”

Lady Maria nudged Hunch aside and walked over to the table. She gently grabbed the book in her hand. She held it as if it would crumble into dust. She opened the cover. The pages were ridged and thicker than most books she had seen. She flipped through the pages. It was written in their language. She would need to take it back to Castle Bire and have one of the Hands translate it for her.

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“I take it this’ll be the last thing you need from me?” asked the man.

Lady Maria looked up from the book and closed it with one hand. “I haven’t killed you yet if that makes a difference.”

The man took another drag from his pipe and exhaled the smoke at the ceiling. He grinned. Shifting his focus between Shepard and Hunch. “I’m gonna miss your food delivery. You always bring the best meat.”

Lady Maria placed her velvet coin purse on the table, turned on her heels, and walked out the door without a word. The man cocked an eyebrow. Coin wasn’t apart of the deal. Especially not the coin of kings and gods. No matter. He shrugged and turned his attention to Shepard. Drool seeped from mouth, rolled down, and dripped from his chin. He tasted the stench of fear on Shepard. Fear was a tasteful seasoning that made ripping the flesh from bone all the better.

His jaw cracked out of place. The top half of his head slowly titled back and his face split open like flower petals made of flesh. The inside lined with rows of teeth that hooked inward down his throat. Rotting flesh from previous meals stuck to his teeth. The putrid odor filled the room and bled Shepard’s eyes. Made him gag.

Shepard reached behind his back. His eyes became narrow. Something writhed around inside the well-dressed man…demon’s mouth. A fleshy rope speared from its mouth, and quickly wrapped itself around Shepard’s neck. The rough and wet texture slid across Shepard’s skin as it tightened its coil. Shepard dropped the rusty shank on the floor, grabbed hold of the tongue and tried to dig his fingers between it and his neck. The tongue slowly crushed his windpipe. He opened his mouth but couldn’t breathe. His knees gave out from underneath him. He dug his finger nails into the floorboard as he tried to yank the tongue from his neck.

Panic swelled within him. Warm tears streamed from his eyes. His vision faded into black. The last thing he saw was Hunch snatching the coin purse off the table and turning on his heels to run. The fat bastard’s flaps jiggled as he ran. Dammit! This wasn’t how Shepard wanted to die. He did not want to die. Did it matter if he died? Nobody would miss him. Nobody would even notice he was gone. His mother was dead. His father—the stranger—never came back for him.

Shepard?

Shepard opened his eyes. “Babel!” he wheezed. Babel would miss him. She waited for him in the clocktower, her feet aching, stomach grumbling, body shivering. If he was gone, who would take care of her? Who would protect her? He needed to be there for her. The day they found one another, the had promised they would always be there for one another. It seemed asinine to pledge one’s trust to a stranger. But when the whole world was against them, a stranger was better than no one.

Liquid light bled from Shepard’s fingertips as he extended his left hand. It was a warm vibrate light that shuddered and squirmed within his hand, taking on a familiar shape. The liquid solidified, Shepard wrapping his fingers tight around the handle. A three-inch-long blade, curved towards Shepard, formed from the handle. He raised the newly summoned knife into the air and came down swiftly on the demon’s tongue.

The sharp blade sliced clean through the demon’s tongue in a spray of crimson. It got on Shepard’s hand. Warm. Sticky. Shepard scampered to his feet, yanking the wet severed tongue from his neck. He threw it on the floor and kicked it aside as the demon thrashed about the room. Its shrieks ear numbing. Blood leaked from its mouth as it crashed back against the table, turned, and staggered into the wall. It hunched over and bagged its fist into the wall until the concrete cracked.

“You damned street rat!” It growled.

The demon whipped around right as Shepard plunged the knife into Its side. The demon belched blood onto the floor. Specks of red landed on Shepard’s face as he pushed deeper into Its side.

“Stanger taught me this one,” smile Shepard. “Really useful when they think they got the upper hand.”

Shepard twisted the blade clockwise and yanked it out with both hands sticky and red. The demon collapsed to its knees, hunched over, and gagging from its wound. It glared up at Shepard with vibrant red in the eyes, snarling and cursing. Blood from the wound seeping between its fingers. It lashed at Shepard. He stepped aside with ease. A slight confident smirk. He gripped the knife with both hands, bloody blade pointed down, and stabbed into the back of the demon’s neck.

“I…curse you…artisaaaan!” gurgled the demon, coughing up blood. Its throat ran warm with its own crimson. Shepard slowly pulled the knife from the demon’s throat, and it fell over dead. A pool of red bloomed from its body, spreading out and around Shepard’s feet. Shepard tossed the knife up. It shattered into brilliant white lights and was gone.

…Artisan?

Shepard, lost in thought, stared at the demon. Its blood-soaked tongue hung from its mouth. Its eyes rolled back. The sparse muscle twitches did not concern Shepard. He was sure it was dead, or at least dying. It was how things died. Broken. Twitching. Bleeding.

He’d seen it before. A local gang found and surrounded a street rat. He did not know the girl personally but seen her around. He recognized her red shaggy hair and amber eyes. One of the bigger members handed the smallest one, a bit older than Shepard, a wooden bat and pointed at the street rat.

It was common for gang members to indoctrinate street rats into their groups. They had street knowledge. They were smart and cunning. They did not shy away from violence. Even if they did, violence found them. He watched the former street rat raise the bat above her head and came down hard.

Crack!

There wasn’t a scream or cry. Just a solid thump as the younger street rat’s body hit the pavement, head cracked open, body spazzing out, and mouth wide open unable to cry out. The older street rat raised her bat and came down again.

Crack!

Shepard closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Memories not worth remembering. He wished he could forget things. But they were vivid, engraved into his mind as if these bad memories happened yesterday. Shepard felt in his pocket. Felt the smooth metal coin of kings and gods safely tucked away. He sighed and opened his eyes.

It wasn’t too late. Hunch was fat, couldn’t run for shit, and tired quickly. Shepard could catch up to him. He checked that his shank was still in his waistband and proceeded towards the door. He glanced over his shoulder. The demon was still dead on the floor. He stepped outside and closed the door behind.