The thing gibbered, grunted. It sounded like its breathing was difficult.
‘You going to keep making noises like a dog? Speak up! Tell me what you done to him!’ Case threw the bottle of scotch. It spun end over end, falling well short of the war mage and landing in the soft grass. Any regrets? Case thought to himself. Yes, one …
The war mage didn’t react, as though it were too sick to care. ‘You. I’ve a question,’ it said, voice deep and rasping. ‘Tell me of a large beast in your world. The beast’s name.’
That Case understood it perfectly was a shock that left him off balance, as though an animal had stood on hind legs and spoken. He swallowed. ‘A beast?’
‘The name of a large, mighty beast,’ it said. ‘An animal. I’ve a question. I expect myself to answer. Yet I wish to be understood.’
Case recovered a little from his shock. ‘Death wants to chat, eh? Elephant, then. Elephant’s a big animal. You mind if I go pick up that bottle? I could use another taste before you get me.’
The yellow gleaming eyes sparkled. ‘My question. An elephant runs through a wall of stone, and makes a house collapse. An elephant beats to the ground a castle old as Time. An elephant slays a mighty elephant, exactly big as it is itself. It is tall as the sky, feet big as mountains. But what can it
‘I don’t know,’ said Case, tears brimming in his eyes. How he hated that voice, which made him feel so small and weak. ‘I don’t know. I just want a drink.’
‘Insects crawl behind its ear. They give it a frightful itch. They near drive it mad. It cannot kill the insects behind its ear. That is what it cannot do.’ The war mage laughed, a sound like rustling leaves.
Case nodded. ‘Thanks. Thanks a whole freaking lot. Now can I get that bottle?’
It looked at him, sickened and exhausted, almost dead itself, if Case judged right. The scotch lay in the grass a little way before it. He headed for it slowly, palms open to show he meant no harm. He just wanted a drink, a goddamn drink, more than he ever had.
‘It now needs other insects. To do the killing
‘You’re nuts. But if you let me get that bottle, I’d really appreciate it.’
It hissed a warning as he took another step closer.
‘You go ahead and kill me,’ said Case, anger rising in him again. ‘Just like you killed all these other poor people. But I’m going to get that bottle.’ He jogged right over, leaned down and grabbed the bottle by the neck. He was within spitting distance of the thing now, near enough to get the foul stink of burned hair and its own flesh cooking in heat Case could feel. It showed its teeth as a dog would, a growl loud in its throat.
Case backed away quickly, hands shaking as he undid the bottle’s lid, took a swig and allowed himself to close his eyes, here, on the brink of death, and savour the scotch. ‘Now, you seem busy,’ he said, buoyed, ‘and I have to find my friend. I’m gonna take a punt and guess he’s not dead here with these poor souls. So I’m gonna leave you to it. So long.’ Case tipped his hat and began to walk away.
The war mage had seemed undecided, but now it stood, shoulders hunched like someone frail and sick, murmuring words too low to hear. Its arms were stiff, its skin scorched and cracking as its staff made chopping motions in the air. Case felt heat rising.
‘You some kind of wizard?’ he called. He spread his arms, offering himself as a target. ‘Go on ahead, put on a show, let’s see what you got.’
The thing pointed a long claw-tipped finger at him, swayed, then hunched forwards, a strangled painful cry in its throat. Such a pitiful sound compared with its rasping deathly voice. Hot air rippled outwards from it, and the space around it shimmered, but then its staff fell sideways in the grass, and its stiff gown of skin was swarmed in worming flames. It fell to its knees, slumped sideways and lay still, burning like a campfire.
‘Some wizard,’ Case said, laughing. ‘I could’ve done that with a box of matches. What’s your next trick? Encore!’ He took a long pull from the bottle and whooped. ‘Still alive!’ he yelled. ‘Let’s see what else you folks’ve got around here, besides dead people and wizards dumb as a box of hammers. Eric, you here? Eric?’
10
They’d walked for about a minute but the cries of the war mages could still be faintly heard. ‘Step quieter,’ said Sharfy. ‘Your shoes are loud.’
‘Surely they can’t hear us from here.’
‘Groundmen will. Their tunnels, all these secret ones are. Castle don’t even know em yet. We’re trespassing right now. You are, anyway. I paid a toll.’ Sharfy’s voice became thoughtful. ‘Other things might hear, too. Never really know what might be down here.’
Bright little points embedded inches deep in the rock sparkled all around them, giving the air a ghostly light. The coins jingled in Sharfy’s pockets with each step and Eric felt the frost from his knife when it got close. He was entirely conscious of that smoking sheath of metal every step they took. ‘Here’s an idea,’ he said. ‘You could tell me where we’re headed. That way it might feel a little less like I’m walking to a shallow grave somewhere.’
‘I won’t kill you,’ said Sharfy, sounding surprised. ‘If the castle wants your kind dead, means the Mayors will want you alive. Why’s not for me to say. But if you come at me I’ll cut some of your guts out.’ He laughed. ‘That was a joke.’
‘Nice one.’
At first, Eric kept an eye out for the chance to catch him off guard, maybe drive an elbow into his jaw, take the clips, load the gun … But this was not a comic book: action would not happen in still frames, and he was well aware a man with as many scars and dents as Sharfy would know a thing or two about fighting.
In a stretch where the lightstones were dim and sparse, they came to a large round opening in the rock wall. Sharfy paused to examine it, troubled. A horrible and very strange smell wafted from it, conjuring sickly colours in the mind. ‘This is new,’ Sharfy whispered, nervously tapping the opening’s edge with his knife. There was, just faintly, a distant creaking sound, perhaps in response. Sharfy peered in, but it was pitch black, with no lightstones in the gloom ahead, no way to know if the tunnel led straight, up or down. ‘Something bad in there. Don’t know what. Keep real quiet for a while. Take those shoes off.’
They walked on through passages that mostly descended, the downwards plunge sometimes so steep they had to slide several metres on their backsides. Once in a while a draught swept through, cold and stale, and vibrations from the surface could be felt now and then when touching the walls. The caverns seldom opened up enough to ease the sense of claustrophobia but for a few places where, without warning, to either side would appear a sheer drop down into absolute nothingness for just a few paces, before the walls closed in on the path again.
Eric tried not to worry about Case. He noticed Sharfy had put away his knife. Sharfy saw him noticing. ‘Groundmen see me armed, they might spring traps, no warning. Never know if they’re watching or not. I’m good hand to hand, so don’t try it.’
‘I had the feeling you’d be good hand to hand.’
‘Very good!’ said Sharfy, pleased. Indeed … their conversation had revealed that Sharfy was good at many things, and that what he wasn’t good at, wasn’t really worth doing. He hesitated a moment, then said, ‘Should’ve been there when those third-rank spearmen tried me.’
‘Do tell.’
So Sharfy did just that for several minutes. ‘I was at a pub in Yinfel, drunker than pissed ale. Six of the bastards came up to me at closing time …’ In Sharfy’s tale, he was wrongfully slighted but laid waste to many foes.
‘Pretty impressive,’ Eric said when it was finally done.
‘That was nothing. Should’ve seen the time in Esk …’ There followed a story in which Sharfy left a trail of carnage over many deserving wrongdoers. There were pauses to demonstrate some combat manoeuvres, one of which nearly broke Eric’s wrist. ‘It’s where I got this scar,’ said Sharfy, pointing at something on the back of his neck. ‘You tell one.’
‘Why not?’ Which edition, which edition …? ‘So, it was a dark and stormy night in Gotham City. I had finished
