31 – Back-alley Brawl

When they returned to the inn late that afternoon, Ward went to the suite he was sharing with Fay and Fan, deposited his spear, and tried out his new toothbrush. It was made of pale blond wood, and the bristles were cut from badger hair, according to the shopkeeper. The idea wasn’t appealing to Ward, but he didn’t see himself inventing nylon anytime soon, so he gave it a try. His “toothpaste” was a mint-flavored powder, and despite the archaic nature of it and his new brush, when he was finished cleaning his teeth, he felt like a new man.

He shook the moisture out of the dark, stiff bristles and then took off his shirt, applying some of the “deodorizing powder” he’d purchased to his armpits. It reminded him of talc but had a musky, woodsy scent, and he rather liked it. Ward chuckled to himself, wondering if he was going to find painkillers mixed with cocaine and opium-rich cough syrups in this world. When he left the room, he took a good look at the spear but decided not to take it. It would probably be great if he had to face off against more lizard men, but he didn’t want to lug it around while he interviewed carpenters and crafts folk about roofers they may know.

Nevertheless, he wore his pistol, and though his borrowed pants didn’t have loops for a belt, he’d affixed his knife to the left-hand strap of his shoulder holster. “I hope that guy comes through with my clothing delivery tomorrow.” He spoke into the empty room, but some part of him had grown used to Grace watching him all the time, so when she spoke up, he wasn’t caught off guard.

“I do, too. It’s almost embarrassing walking around with you dressed like that.”

Ward snorted. “How can you be embarrassed if no one can see you?”

“I’m embarrassed for you, dummy.” Grace hadn’t followed him through the door, but she somehow stood before him, and he couldn’t recall her suddenly appearing out of nowhere. As he thought about it, Ward couldn’t remember ever seeing her appear. She was either there or not.

“Must have something to do with how you exist in my head.”

“Hmm?”

“Forget it.” Ward started down the stairs and couldn’t help looking at his rough, loosely fitting pants and well-used moccasin-like shoes. “Man, I hate to go around interviewing people looking like this.”

“Well, I know you want to find this killer quickly, and I think you should, too, but you have other things you could focus on until your new duds arrive.”

“Duds?”

“Don’t they say that anymore?” Grace winked at him. “I’m just trying to make you more comfortable, old man.”

“There it is.” Ward laughed and shook his head. The common room wasn’t too busy; the dinner rush wasn’t for another hour or two, so he didn’t feel too conspicuous speaking to his imaginary friend. “What do you suggest I do with my time?”

“Let’s see if you can find a local witch or some such. Wouldn’t you like to learn how to use that spell page?”

“The copper sheet?”

“Yes. I’ve decided it’s meant to go into a grimoire.”

“It’s…metal.”

“Very thin metal!”

“Are you all right?” Ward had stopped on the last step and hadn’t noticed Fan coming in from the bar section of the room.

“Yeah, I’m good—dialoguing with myself. Hey, do you know any local, um, people like me? You know, like a witch or wizard?”

“Well, no one very powerful—not here in Tarnish.”

“No, I don’t care if they’re powerful. I just want to talk to someone who knows a thing or two.” Ward stepped down to the floor, and Fan smiled, reaching out to grasp his arms.

“I didn’t get a chance to thank you for that knife before you two ran off. I’m awfully sorry to hear about your friend, by the way. What a horrible thing!”

“Yeah. It really is awful, considering she just lost her brother, too. Poor girl’s pretty much alone.”

“Oh, that’s terrible! Well, I’m glad Fay’s planning to help her clean the place up in the morning.”

“Oh, she’s going in the morning?”

“Mmhmm.” Fan smiled and gestured around the inn. “She wanted to bring Willard, but I couldn’t have those two leaving me alone right before supper. I hope that’s all right! I told her, ‘Better in the morning, Fay, than not at all.’ That’s right, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, definitely. I think it’s great they’re going to help.”

“Well, enough about that. You asked me a question. As far as magical folk go, the only one I’ve ever dealt with is Maggie, out by the northern wall. She has a nice little stone house near the cemetery. People go to her to get curses removed, to ask her to look into their futures, things like that.”

“Is she for real?” Ward was skeptical, images of palm reading shops running through his mind.

“I think so! She warned me I’d have a girl to look after even though I’d never been able to have my own kids. Summer after she said that, Fay’s mother died.”

“Huh. Well, I need to speak to her, I guess.”

“She’ll see you! Just be respectful when you come to her gate. There’s a little silver bell you need to ring, and then she’ll call you in.” She paused, then asked, “Will you be back for supper?”

“Got no plans otherwise.” Ward smiled and patted his stomach, pleased by how flat and hard it felt. “Gotta keep up my strength.” After he’d gotten a few more directions from Fan and was well on his way, meandering through the darkening streets toward the northern gate, Grace made another appearance.

“Are you, like, trying to set up something kinky with that aunt and her daughter?”

“Goddamn it, Grace!”

“Just checking, ‘cause I don’t know if you’re blind or dumb, but they both have the hots for you.”

“That’s not happening, and if that’s true, maybe I should just stay away from ‘em both in that regard.” Ward scowled, wishing he knew how much Grace was messing with him and how seriously he should take her. He liked to flirt and often assumed the women who flirted back were just having fun like he was, but he supposed there was some chance Fan was taking things a little more seriously than he wanted. Was he going to create some sort of rift between the two women if he pursued things with Fay? That question brought forth a related one: Why was he more attracted to Fay than Fan? Youth?

He didn’t think that was it; she had a different quality to her, a more carefree, “say things how they really are” kind of energy. Fan was certainly more his actual age, but she’d never have been his type, even back on Earth. Ward frowned. Would she? “Dammit, Grace,” he growled again, annoyed that she’d put his mind on that track. Regardless of anything, he wasn’t sure he liked Fay or Fan enough to get mired down in any sort of romantic business; he didn’t intend to stick around Tarnish that long.

“Sometimes the truth stings, old man.” She hurried to walk in front of him, nimbly turning to climb the sloping cobbles backward as she faced him. “So, we’re off to a cemetery? At night? With a possible killer after you? Can’t imagine anything going wrong.”

Ward sighed. She had a point. “Probably should’ve brought my spear.”

Stolen story; please report.

“I was about to ask where it was.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ward dismissed her with a wave, turning his attention to the street. He was reasonably sure that if he turned left at the next junction, he’d end up on the main north-south road. Not many people were out; it was either early dinner time or still working time, and the air had a real nippy bite to it. Ward’s breath plumed forth with his exertion, but it tasted good, that air, and smelled like Fall and wood-fired ovens. He couldn’t help feeling good walking through that chilly twilit evening, his body spry and strong and his future something he couldn’t even guess at. It felt like anything was possible for him, and he couldn’t remember feeling that way in a long, long time—not since he was a teenager, maybe.

As he reached the top of the steeply sloped, narrow street, he followed it around a corner, high-walled, brick buildings all around, and came face to face with a pair of rather surly-looking men. Ward nodded a brief greeting, then moved to the right, aiming to edge around them close to the wall. They were both decently large, close to six feet, but thin, wiry, mean, and hungry-looking. Ward didn’t like how they both locked eyes on his face and stared while he scraped his shoulder against the bricks, trying to get past. He reflexively lifted his left arm, bringing his hand up high, ready to defend his face or neck.

He was feeling silly and paranoid, sure he was overreacting as they continued past, but then Grace screamed, “Duck!” and shoved him forward. Something metallic skittered against the bricks, and Ward sprang into motion, turning his stumble into a run, glancing over his shoulder to see both men after him, wielding knives. He turned, redoubling his effort to sprint away, but as he rounded another corner, he realized he’d either made a wrong turn or the two men had laid a trap; the narrow alley ahead of him was blocked off by a high wall of heavy-looking wooden crates.

Briefly, Ward considered trying to climb the stack, but images of the two thugs jamming their knives in his legs or back steered him away from that idea. Instead, as he ran to the end of his road, he stooped to pick up a four-foot plank of wood, whirled, and swung it in an overhead cleave, sure his pursuers were right on his heels. He couldn’t have timed it more perfectly if he’d tried—the plank, thin and dry though it was, cracked like a baseball bat against the first guy’s forehead, right at the hairline. Ward’s first pursuer fell in a heap as the wooden board splintered, sliding over the cobbles with the momentum of his chase.

The second thug didn’t slow, unfazed by the fate of his companion, driving forward, lunging with his knife. Ward sucked in his stomach, arching his back and almost comically thrusting his butt backward, trying to avoid the blade, and it nearly worked—just an inch or so pierced his belly, driving into his abdominal muscle. “Argh!” Ward screamed and hammered the splinters of the board at his attacker’s face. The thug threw his arm up, trying to block the attack, and Ward grabbed wildly at his wrist, trying to get control of the knife.

The assailant jerked and drove the knife forward, and Ward almost let his arm slip out of his grip, finally getting control by knotting his fingers in the man’s rough, woolen sleeve. “Fucking drop it!” Ward snarled. The man locked eyes with him, desperation entering his expression as he felt Ward’s strength. He jerked and stabbed, but his arm wasn’t going anywhere now that Ward had a grip. That didn’t stop the mugger or murderer from trying to hammer him in the side of the head with his balled-up fist.

Ward got his arm up, blocking most of the blows, and by that time, his brain had caught up with everything that had happened. These two assholes had just tried to run him down and probably kill him. He felt the adrenaline in his blood, felt that dialed-in, in-the-shit focus, and he gave the guy a vicious shove, knocking him stumbling back while yanking hard on the sleeve, robbing him of his balance. As he pulled that knife-wielding arm straight, turning it so the elbow pointed up, he brought his other hand down like a hammer on the joint. The man screamed, his voice high and shrill as his elbow bent the wrong way with a sickening, wet crunch.

“Yes!” Grace cheered from off to the side.

The knife clattered to the ground, and Ward stepped forward, driving his fist into the thug’s gut. He coughed out his breath, and Ward yanked the damaged arm again, pulling him sideways, off balance, and then he smashed his knuckles into his head, right in front of his left ear. The thug went limp and fell at Ward’s feet. “Sonofabitch,” Ward groaned, noting the blood-soaked state of his shirt and the top edge of his draw-string trousers. He dropped the guy’s arm, then stooped to feel for a pulse. He found one right away, so he straightened, groaning and pressing his left hand against his wounded stomach, then walked over to the first guy.

“Still alive?” Grace asked, and Ward grunted an affirmative sound.

He didn’t need to feel the second thug’s pulse; mana was already starting to seep out of him, making little clouds around his body. “That was fast. Um, no, this guy’s dead.”

“Man, you really pounded that guy! I think it’s safe to say that hemograph wasn’t lying—you’re getting stronger.”

“Well, they were chasing me with knives.” Ward groaned and leaned forward, still pressing his bloody shirt in a wad against the cut on his stomach. “Shit! I’m not going anywhere like this. I guess it’s back to the inn.”

“First things first, Ward! Check their pockets. Don’t you think you should take the, uh, alive one back with you? For questioning?”

“Yeah. Yes.” Ward shook his head, still pumped with adrenaline. He needed to slow down and think. “Of course. I wish I had my own place or an office or something…”

“You could go to Haley’s.”

“Ah!” Ward snapped his fingers. “You’re a sharp one, Grace.” He glanced at the dead thug, and when he saw the mana, he felt a weird kind of pull, almost like he might back in the day if he saw a shot of bourbon or a piece of pie. He knelt beside the body and put his hand into the nearest cloud of tiny blue dust motes, closing his eyes and slowing his breathing. Almost without trying, he found that state of mind where he wasn’t seeing the world, but he could feel it around him—the weight of the buildings, the openness of the sky, the attention of the stars, and the soft, tingling, feathery touch of the mana. He breathed in and out, feeling his muscles relax and his heart slow down.

“Are you—” Grace cut herself off as it started to happen. Ward could feel the mana begin to pour into him, and it came in a great rush, not as much as right after he’d drunk the refinement elixir, but much more than any other time. “You got his mana already?” Ward opened his eyes and smiled. “Your eyes are blazing!”

“I got a lot, like you guessed I might. I think sleeping away my life in those catacombs did open up some room.”

“It didn’t open room, knucklehead. The mana you’ve gathered will continue to improve your body. At least that’s what that green-eyed lady said. You should check the hemograph!”

“Lisa.”

“Huh?”

“Her name was Lisa. Are my eyes still bright?”

“No, they’re fading. I don’t think you’ve moved to the next ‘tier’ yet. I wonder how long it will take.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Ward, quit messing around and search that robber, then pick up this one.” She prodded the unconscious thug with her boot. “Are you going to look at the hemograph?”

“Sheesh. Which is it? Hurry or check the hemograph? I’ll do it when we get to Haley’s.” Ward bent to pat the guy down and found a small pouch with a handful of glories, a gold chain, and a carved wooden pipe. He left the pipe, took the glories and chain, and picked up the two fallen daggers. They were decent knives, though quite different from each other. One was only about four inches long with a fat, double-edge blade, and the other was longer and pointier, slender, and almost round. It looked like it was meant to leave wide, oozing puncture wounds. Ward felt glad he’d been stabbed by the shorter knife.

He didn’t have a backpack or satchel, so he took the dead man’s shirt off and wrapped the knives in it, slinging the package over his shoulder. Then he stooped and hoisted the second thug into a fireman’s carry, hurrying back down the narrow alley the way he’d come. It was cold, and the sky was darkening, but the streetlights had yet to come on. He only passed a few people before he came to the first junction, and no one shouted any challenges when he hurried by, head down.

At the corner, he turned right and looked at Grace. “I don’t think I can find Haley’s house from here.”

“I’ve got it. You might not remember, but we’ve walked through this corner of town. Follow me.” Ward nodded and chased after his dapper, blond-haired devil, carrying a guy he’d just beaten the piss out of and leaking blood down the front of his shirt and pants. They had good luck with citizens ignoring them for the most part, but when they came to a corner of a busy, central street, a man in a fine coat and tall silken hat stood by the lamppost, watching a boy with a long stick light the wick. He turned to Ward, and his face creased in a frown.

“Excuse me! Hold on a minute! What’s going on there?”

“Oh, him?” Ward smiled and shrugged the best he could with the thug draped over his shoulders. “His wife had enough of him drinking and smashed him over the head with a bottle. I’m the one who got him in trouble; we were celebrating, you see? Anyway, I felt bad, so I’m taking him to my place ‘til his wife cools down.”

“Pfft.” The man shook his head, spitting onto the cobbles. “I’d think someone with your talents could find better folks to spend your time with. If I had the touch, I’d not waste my life like a listless vagabond.” Ward felt like an idiot for several long seconds as he tried to figure out what the hell the guy was talking about, only to be rescued by Grace.

“He can see your eyes gleaming in the dark, dummy.”

“Oh!” Ward laughed and shook his head. “Well, some of us aren’t meant for great adventures. Have a good night, buddy.”

“Buddy?” His frown turned to an expression of puzzlement, but Ward had already begun to hurry past, and the man didn’t call after him.

“Okay, Grace, I think we need to avoid busy intersections.”

“Noted! We’re getting close anyway. That was the only major road we had to cross. Her neighborhood is up this hill.” At her words, Ward looked up from the cobbles and saw a long, narrow road leading up at a steep angle. He recognized the street, lined with narrow townhomes, each separated from the road by a little wrought-iron fence. He was already tired, his legs burning from the hurried pace through town carrying a fairly good-sized man.

He stood there breathing heavily for a minute, smiling and nodding at the people who passed, then shrugged and winked at Grace. “Can you get behind me and push?”