Tome of the Undergates

his voice becoming a shrill imitation. ‘“The world can make more humans.” I’d have thought one more of us dying would make you happy.’

‘In hindsight, it would have, since I wouldn’t have to suffer your voice now!’ Her ears flattened against the side of her head in a menacing gesture. ‘And don’t even think to try to imitate me, even if you’ve got the height for it.’

It occurred to Asper at that moment, regarding them so curiously, that this was no ordinary fight. They had squab-bled before, as had all in their company, but never with such fervour. There was something animalistic between them, a frothing, snarling fury they had not deigned to show each other, or anyone else, before now. For that reason, she thought it wise to keep her distance.

Dreadaeleon, however, had never understood the difference between intellect and wisdom.

‘You’re disturbing everyone here, you know,’ he said, reaching out to place a hand on Lenk’s shoulder. ‘If you’d just-’

‘Back AWAY.’

Lenk seized the boy’s frail hand roughly, nearly crushing it with his fury-fuelled grip. He shoved Dreadaeleon off effortlessly, propelling his scrawny mass across the floor as though he were a stick wrapped in a dirty coat. And like a dirty coat, he twisted, stumbling across the floor, making a brief cry of surprise that was silenced the moment he came to a sudden halt.

Face-first against Asper’s robe-swaddled bosom.

He staggered back as though he had been punched in twelve places at the same time, sweat suddenly forming on his face in streaming sheets, hands held up as though he was facing some murderous wild beast. Given the red-faced, gaping-mouthed, narrow-eyed incredulous expression on the priestess’s face, he wagered it would be a reasonable reaction.

‘I–I’m truly sorry,’ he stammered, ‘but you must acknowledge that this was hardly my fault, you see-’

Her slap cut through the air deftly, stinging him across the cheek and sending a spray of anxious sweat into the air. He recoiled, touching the redder mark upon an already reddened face and regarded her with a shocked expression.

‘What’d you do that for? I was just telling you it was an accident!’

‘Accident or no, a lady is always entitled to deliver a slap for purposes of preserving her dignity.’ She flicked beads of moisture off her fingers. ‘Rules of etiquette.’

His finger was up and levelled at her in a single breath, an incomprehensible word shouted in another. A small spark of electricity danced down his arm and leapt from the tip, striking the priestess squarely in the chest. She trembled, letting out a shriek as it spread and ran the length of her body sending her hair on its ends and bathing her in the aroma of undercooked pork.

‘What was that for?’ she hissed through chattering teeth.

‘Spite,’ he replied, flicking sparks off his fingers.

‘How utterly typical,’ she growled, sweeping a scornful gaze across her companions. ‘You people feed off each other. When one of you acts like a vagrant, you all do.’

‘Us people?’ Lenk sneered. ‘You remember you’re with us, don’t you?’

‘Yeah,’ Kataria grunted, ‘at least we involved you in the fighting. I don’t see Miron out here even talking to you, much less getting ready to jab your eyeballs out.’

‘Why, you pointy-eared little-’

The fight died suddenly as the lanterns swayed at a sudden impact. The companions froze, taking a collective hard swallow as they noted a large shadow looming out from the companionway leading to the ship’s hold. All looked up to see Gariath standing in the entry, surveying them through eyes glittering with excitement.

‘What’s going on here?’ he asked as softly as he could, hardly enough to prevent them from taking a collective step backwards.

‘Nothing’s going on,’ Lenk said, forcing a weak smile onto his face.

‘It doesn’t look like nothing to me,’ the dragonman growled, taking a step forwards. ‘It looks like you’re all trying to kill each other.’

He paused, flashing his teeth in a morbid smile.

‘Without me.’

Eight

ENTICEMENT

‘What you don’t seem to understand is that this is mere courtesy.’ Argaol’s voice, intended to be a growl, resigned to being a sigh, came out as something of a phlegmless cough. ‘Your cooperation here is the difference between a nice comfortable cell in Toha and joining your men in the deep.’

Rashodd looked up from the chair, weary as he had been when the interrogation had begun, but even less impressed with the dark-skinned captain. With his helmet removed, he was all scars and smirks above his long, grey beard. He raised a hand accompanied by the clink of manacles, covering a long, reeking yawn in a gesture one-part manners and two-parts insult. Making a point of smacking his lips, he looked the captain evenly in the eye, as tall sitting as Argaol was standing.

‘I can appreciate your desire for information, dear sir,’ he spoke curtly, ‘as much as I can appreciate your lack of tact and patience. Even so, I must insist that you accept the fact that I simply don’t know anything.’ His lips curled in an attempt to be coy. ‘I should beg your leave to sleep on it, perhaps with a visit from one of your more feminine passengers. It’s always been something of a dream of mine to learn what it’s like to sleep with a shict.’

Denaos had to stifle an admiring chuckle at that. He’d often wondered the same thing, hoping to compare it to his beddings with more civilised ladies. Never did try to talk Kat into it, though, he admitted to himself, likely because she’d gnaw my gents off. Content with that thought, he leaned against the far wall of the captain’s cabin-turned-interrogation room, taking comfort in the shadows.

It was all very dramatic, he had to admit: the fineries pushed aside or covered up, a single oil lamp hanging directly over the chair that the Cragsman was seated in. However, it was still Argaol’s chair, still far too comfortable for any prisoner to confess in. He had considered bringing this to the captain’s attention. Still, he reasoned, it would seem presumptuous to accuse the fellow of not knowing a business he clearly did not know.

With that, he simply plucked a dagger from his belt and began to trim the various stains out from under his nails.

‘Regardless, good sir,’ Rashodd said, ‘don’t feign interest in my well-being. I know you full-well plan to recoup your losses with the bounty my head will deliver.’

‘However meagre it might be,’ Argaol said with a sneer. ‘Your ship is damaged, Rashodd. We found scarcely anything of value aboard. Even the companion boat had been taken.’ He allowed himself a smirk. ‘It seems your men jumped ship, long before we could board. Small faith in your cause, had they?’

Not bad, Denaos noted. A cheap shot at a man’s esteem wasn’t always the best way to get someone to talk, but it might work in this case. Rashodd seemed like the kind of man who wouldn’t take kindly to being called small.

‘Sensible of them,’ the Cragsman conceded with a nod. ‘At the very least, they’ve saved me the hardship of paying for their funerary expenses.’ He turned a scrutinising eye upon Argaol. ‘You’re still a man in good standing with the guilds, yes? You do plan to extend that particular courtesy to the families of your slain men, don’t you, Captain? I’d offer to chip in, but as you said, not much aboard the Linkmaster worth taking, is there?’

The tall man bit back a wince at that. The captain will be groping his stones tonight, doubtless.

‘I will be, in fact,’ Argaol snarled, leaning in close to the prisoner. ‘I’ll pay for the funerals of those good men who were slain,’ he thrust a finger at the Cragsman as though it were a weapon, ‘by your monsters. Have you no shame, Rashodd? Summoning those. . those things to fight for