Boneman was a vil ain of no special stature. He was involved with Megelin’s court through the twins, who had used him to protect their area of corruption. He was dangerous but was known amongst the low mainly because he often bragged that he was evil.
That declaration did not come from the heart. He did it to intimidate. But for the uprising Megelin would never have crossed paths with Boneman. In the most dangerous hours of the riot, as the good people let themselves vent ancient frustrations, those whose lives might be forfeit had to support one another. The twins brought Boneman in because he was strong, desperate himself, and lacked a conscience. He agreed not just because of the generous pay but because he knew hard men might use the chaos to mask writing a bloody final sentence to Boneman’s tale.
Boneman spirited his charges away with considerable finesse. “It’s what I do,” he bragged, not pleased about having to do it with feeble old men, a weakling king, and a score of donkeys with a mass of cargo. Megelin wondered why the twins insisted that so many animals were needed.
The party headed north, the direction pursuers were least likely to look. Megelin did not initial y realize that they were fol owing the track that his father had taken when fleeing Al Rhemish at an even younger age. Unlike his father, Megelin did not have a horde of enraged Invincibles behind him. There was no pursuit at al . Al Al Rhemish thought he had been kil ed. Even Old Meddler thought him lost and was distressed. Megelin bin Haroun was a feeble tool, blunt, bent, and cracked, but had been, even so, the best blade left in a dwindling set.
Al went wel for several days. Panic faded. Fear drew back. The pace slackened. The band moved on more through inertia than from a need to escape.
Then the dread returned tenfold, with the king badly shaken. Mizr demanded, “What is the matter, Majesty?” He and his brother were so worn down that neither attended much beyond their own exhaustion. Abd-Arliki was worse.
He was fading. Only Boneman remained strong enough to help him. Boneman did not want to bother. He eyed the old chamberlain like he was contemplating getting rid of the burden.
Megelin gasped, “I know where we are! From my father’s stories about when he was fleeing from the Scourge of God. A little farther on we’l find a ruined Imperial watchtower that’s haunted by a hungry ghost,” using ghost to mean a ghoul or devil. “My father was trapped there for a while. He wasn’t ever sure how he got away.” Never saying so, he admitted that he was not the man his father had been. “We’re probably dangerously close already. If we camp around here the ghost wil come get us.”
He thought that was how it had worked. It had been fifteen years since he had heard the story and he had not paid close attention at the time.
“No matter,” Mizr said. “We have treasure. No one is after us. We don’t have to stick to this obscure road.”
“Treasure?” Megelin asked.
“Misr and I brought the household funds. We wil live wel wherever we settle. I suggest we turn west.” Misr agreed. “Going west wil give us a better chance to find help for abd-Arliki.”
Megelin looked north. There was nothing there to draw him, real y. He thought he could feel the demon waiting, insane with mystical hunger. “West we go. Tomorrow. Or now, even. I want to get farther from the hungry ghost.” Why had the twins not mentioned the household treasury before? Because they wanted it al for themselves?
Obviously, but now they understood that they could not get out of this on their own.
The real truth was, Mizr mentioned the money only because he was too tired to remain cautious.
No ghoul came that night but death was not a stranger.
Though Megelin was not surprised he did see something odd about abd-Arliki’s eyes. They had the buggy look of a hanged man.
Even Misr and Mizr betrayed guilty relief because the old man no longer hindered them. Megelin was not sure why they had brought abdArliki in the first place, but neither did he care. He was busy being exasperated with Boneman, who refused to move on until he interred the old man in a substantial freestone cairn.
“Hey, show the dead some respect…Majesty. The courtesy don’t cost nothing. You’d appreciate it if it was you. They’s plenty a things out there that’d gnaw on you.” Misr and Mizr helped impatiently. Boneman thanked them graciously, then gave his sul en, nonparticipating monarch a black look. “Nobody can’t say I disrespect the dead.” Later, the survivors hit an old east-west trace. Fol owing that, they found some shepherds beside a smal oasis.
Those people had no news from Al Rhemish—nor did they care. They were not sure who ruled there.
Megelin got his feelings bruised. He was not a hunted fugitive. No one cared enough to bother. He asked the twins, “Did we mess up by running? Should we have stayed?”
“We did the right thing,” Mizr insisted. “Otherwise, we would’ve beaten abd-Arliki into the darkness. They were coming. It is possible that we ran too far, though.” Misr added, “We should have stayed close by and just gone back after everybody final y calmed down.” His twin nodded. “Indeed. Panic is never good. I think that it may not yet be too late. We should go back. What say you, Hawk?”
...
Megelin felt like a crushing weight lay on his chest. He surged into panicked wakefulness—and found that there was a weight atop him. It was a large, flat rock half as heavy as he was. Other rocks surrounded him. He could get no leverage to get out.
A grinning, one-eyed face appeared above, Boneman straining under the weight of another large rock. “Good morning, Majesty.” The vil ain settled his burden onto Megelin’s groin. “Looks like it’s going to be a wonderful day.”
Megelin did not quite grasp his situation. “Please. What?
Why?”
“You know I insist on honoring the dead. They deserve al the respect we can give them.” He vanished from view.
Megelin fought the rocks, without success. His limbs were pinned, too.
From somewhere close by Boneman growled, “Wil you lay stil ?” A squishy crunch fol owed.
The one-eyed man appeared with another rock. This one was wet and red and had bits of hair and flesh stuck to it.
The red was so fresh it had not yet drawn flies.
Something bit Megelin on his inside left ankle.
“That Misr just didn’t want to get along. I’m tempted to disrespect him.”
Megelin tried to ask what was happening and why. Panic took over. He shrieked commands.
“Now why do you want to get al rude like that? Here I am, busting my butt to do you royal honors, and you’re being unpleasant. Relax, Majesty. Your grave wil be the biggest and best of al . The foxes and jackals and vultures wil never get at you.”
Something smal took a bite of Megelin. He squealed, imagining things crawling al over him down there. Or maybe he was not imagining things. Another bite fol owed, then another.
The sun soared higher. It beat down into Megelin’s face.
Boneman hummed as he went on stacking stones. He confided his plans for a future spent enjoying the treasure in al those donkey packs. “The Disciple’s preachers told the truth. If we’re patient God wil grant us what we deserve.” Boneman said that just before he placed the slab that shut out the sun. That and, “Sleep tight, Majesty.” Megelin wept. He begged. Vaguely, remotely, he heard Boneman humming or chatting as he interred Misr and Mizr. Megelin convinced himself that this was only a cruel practical joke. Boneman would dig him out once his bul y streak had been fed.
Despite the pain and terror Megelin fel asleep. Sleep was an escape. He dreamed a dream that recal ed his father’s adventure when he crossed this same desert, headed north. In that dream Megelin approached the ghost and recognized him, as his father had not done then.
That devil was no spirit. He was not supernatural at al . He was Old Meddler, playing the games he played to keep the world a violent place.
Megelin wakened. The darkness had turned solid. The air had cooled. He could not move. Boneman had done nothing to al eviate his condition. He was lightheaded with hunger and thirst and in substantial pain where insects —
