ARC: The Corpse-Rat King (27 page)

“Down there, sire,” he said. “We make that opening, and put its bulk between us and your gaolers. Once outside, they’ll never catch us. Uh,” He glanced back at the skeleton. “Are you sure you can… uh… make it?”

The skeleton clapped a hand on his shoulder. Marius tried not to flinch. “Have no fear, brave peon,” Nandus said. “There’s good blood in this body. I’ve the strength of a horse, and the bravery of one, too.”

“Right.”

“Wait!”

“What?” Marius had tensed for the jump. Nandus’ command caught him off-balance. It took an act of will to stop himself sliding forward onto his face and over the lip of their precarious perch.

“Littleboots!” Nandus’ skull was rotating from left to right, scanning a view Marius could not begin to guess at. “My brave steed. I cannot leave without him.”

Marius turned back, and made sure the lid of his subconscious was very tightly shut. He did not need Nandus to know what he was thinking right now.

“Waiting for us outside, I’m sure, sire. We must hurry, lest, uh, lest he be discovered.”

“Yes, yes! Onward, my subject. Hold fast, darling!” Nandus’ voice rang loud in Marius’ head. “Daddy will be with you soon!”

Marius did a quick tour of his mental shutters, testing the locks and doubling the guard. Then he gathered his legs beneath him, made sure of his aim, and launched himself into space.

The journey was less painful this time, in part because he was far less successful in keeping himself afloat. Marius made no attempt to gain height, or even to keep himself on an even keel. He was falling, but this time, he was more in control of his motion. Who knows, he thought, I might even get used to this. There are baths in Borgho, and a club that swims the harbour in summer. I could join them. It could be a whole new lease of life for me. Images of himself, bronzed from the sun and muscular from all the swimming he was doing, flashed through his mind. He waved to the girls who had come to line the harbour wall, just to catch sight of him as he ploughed through the waves like a handsome, virile shark.

The door brought him back to the present by the simple expedient of striking him under the chin. Marius flailed for a moment, then grabbed the lower lip and hauled himself up. He twisted so that he sat facing the King’s skeleton, standing with feet braced on the golden floor of the stable.

“See?” he projected, hoping the King wouldn’t register the dull thumping in his jaw, or his wonderment at actually feeling pain. “Nothing to it.” He waved the King onward. “Your turn.”

The King looked right, then left, leaning out over the edge. “No sign of the enemy?”

Marius sighed. This was going to be a long pantomime. “No, my lord,” he replied. “But be quick.” He rolled his eyes, then stopped. No telling how good the King’s vision was. If Marius could see better now that he was dead, Nandus might be able to see forever without any eyes at all. “They may be back at any time.”

Nandus nodded. He stepped back, braced himself in an obscene parody of a runner about to leave his mark, then stepped forward and leaped from the stable wall.

Marius watched in shocked silence as the King sank a dozen feet to the bottom of the room, and gracefully broke apart. He closed his eyes, suddenly very alone on his perch.

“Fuck,” he said. “Fucking
fuck
.” He opened his eyes again and stared down into the blackness. Cruelly, Nandus’ skull had rolled into a shaft of lighter water. Marius could see the crown, a million miles out of his reach. He ran one hand down his face. He wasn’t prepared to contemplate the idea of climbing down to retrieve it, not just yet.

Something stirred across the floor below. Marius leaned forward. Something was moving across the pile of bones, crawling here and there with purpose, getting bigger as it moved.

“No,” he said. “No.”

The bones were sliding across each other as they had before, scuttling in larger and larger groups, joining together, slowly gaining form as Marius watched, his mouth agape. A hand reached out and plucked the skull from the floor, bending back to put it atop the spinal column. Marius frowned. There was something about the arm, something not quite right. He squinted, trying to get a clear view, then rocked back as Nandus rose to his feet and waved at Marius.

“Oh, good and most ancient Gods save your humble servant.”

Marius suddenly knew what was wrong with Nandus’ arm. It was not that it had an extra elbow, or that one of them bent in entirely the wrong direction, although that was bad enough. What was really wrong was King Nandus, and the fact that he was suddenly seven feet taller than he had been, and that his ribcage ran the length of his body from his vastly elongated neck to the massive pelvis that anchored his long, multi-jointed legs.

Nandus had landed upon Littleboots’ bones, and in his dead, mad state, had incorporated them into his own frame. He reached up an arm – fetlock, Marius tried not to scream, it’s a fetlock – and grasped the lower lip of the door, pulling himself up to balance precariously over Marius. He leaned down, and placed his human head next to Marius’ ear.

“Lead on,” he whispered. Marius stared past his skull, to the equine eyes that gazed back at him from deep within the huge chest cavity. Somewhere at the back of his senses, he thought he could hear something whinny. He turned away, closing his eyes against a sudden case of vertigo.

“This way,” he said, swallowed and tried again in a much less panicky tone. “Towards starboard.”

He pushed away from the door, refusing to hear the rattle of joints from the monstrosity in his wake.

The journey across the deck was a nightmare of controlled revulsion. Twice, Marius slipped on the overgrown wood, and twice Nandus steadied him by reaching out a parody of an arm. Each time, it took a conscious act of will not to leap away in fear. The third time it happened, Nandus leaned his monstrous neck down past Marius shoulder’ and tilted his head to look at him askance.

“Steady,” he said. “We’ll be free soon enough.”

Marius nodded, unable to speak. He regained his balance and slid towards the railing at the ship’s starboard edge. Nandus tiptoed after, his hoof-feet making dull double clicks against the wooden beams. Once they had achieved the railing, Marius leaned against it and looked over at the ocean floor, measuring the drop.

“We should be safe,” he said. “I’ll go first. Just… aim for a soft spot, or something.” He braced himself against the rail, then swung himself over. The sand came towards him more slowly than it should, giving him plenty of time to regret his leap before he struck it at an angle and rolled down the short incline to fetch his head up against the hull. He staggered back, rubbing his head, and collapsed onto his back, looking up the side to the deck. Nandus waited a moment, then stepped over the edge and dropped lightly to the ground, a descent of no more than a couple of feet for his massively elongated legs. He bent down in an intricate motion of joints and bends, and offered a hand to Marius.

“Let’s go, man,” he said. Marius took the hand and began to pull himself up. Nandus snorted, and, Marius realized that assistance was not what his companion had in mind. Slowly, scarcely believing himself capable of the act, he tilted his face down and kissed the delicate arrangement of bones in Nandus’ hand.

“Your Majesty,” he replied, trying not to gag. Up close, the bones were pitted and scarred. Thirty years of providing meals for uncountable tiny ocean creatures were written upon their surface. He let go, and dragged himself to his feet.

“We’d best be quick,” he said, glancing up at the hulk, gauging the correct direction from its alignment. “The, uh, the enemy won’t be long. Once they discover your escape they’ll be in pursuit.” He made a great show of glancing around. “This way, Your Majesty.” He regained his alignment and stepped away from the ship, then stopped. Nandus was shaking his head.

“I think not, soldier.” The King said. “Look at my ship.”

Marius looked. “Yes?”

“Look what they have done to it. Those devils. Those unutterable fiends.” He raised a fist and shook it at the hulk. “My pride and joy. My greatest work. I cannot let such an insult go unpunished.” He turned upon Marius, and Marius was taken aback at how quickly the King’s skull was inches from his face. “What better time to strike? Strike, while the Ocean Gods slumber, secure in the misplaced knowledge that their tormentor, their divine revenger, lies shackled and helpless before their demonic ministrations! Let them sleep, let them snore in their watery beds. Nandus, destroyer of oceans, is free. Let their resting places become their graves!” He reared upwards, and Marius could not help but picture statues he had seen of great war heroes on their steeds, rising up on their hind legs to herald some endless stone-cut charge. Again, just underneath the King’s words, he could have sworn he heard a whinny.

“No… Your Majesty. No.” Marius made a grab for Nandus as the King settled back into a more normal position. He missed, and almost tumbled over. Nandus stepped forward, his hand raised into a fist.

“Once more into the breach, servile minions,” he shouted. “Once more, or close up this ship with our Scorban dead!”

“What?” Marius bunched his fists, and pressed them against his forehead. “What breach? What
minions
?” He jumped aside as Nandus took a step forward. “Wait. Stop. There’s nobody… Woah!” he shouted in desperation, as Nandus reached out an arm to haul himself back onto the top deck. To his amazement, the King stopped. This time, Marius was under no illusion as to the snort of air and low, breathy rumble he heard. He reached out, and patted the Nandus on the rump.

“Good boy,” he said uncertainly. “There’s a good fellow.”

“You’d better have a damn good reason for this impertinence,” Nandus said, his voice low with repressed anger. Unconsciously, his left foot pawed at the ground. His jaw dropped open, and Marius tried not to imagine a giant tongue lolling from the side of his mouth.

“You need to resign this field, Your Majesty.” He stepped forward, placed a hand on the ship. “We are alone, in a land of enemies. Ask yourself: what glory have they claimed from imprisoning their greatest foe, and what more would be theirs for seeing him killed and held aloft as proof of their might? Think, Your Majesty. How better to diminish them, and to raise your own value, than an escape from under their watery noses, to return with yet greater numbers, and conquer the entire sea in the name of the great and eternal Nandus, King of Scorby, the world, and all the oceans?” Gods, he thought in that isolated part of his brain. If an eatery served me a pudding this over-egged, I’d send it back. Nandus considered his words for several moments, staring out into the depths at his immortal glory.

Then, “No,” he said. “It is well said, loyal servant, but now is the time. We strike now.” He raised his voice once more into a shout. “For Nandy-poos, Scorby, and the god of my choice!” He pushed off and made the deck in one swift movement, disappearing between decks before Marius could react. In quick succession, a series of massive thuds emerged from the bowels of the ship. Marius could hear, quite clearly, a cry of victory each time Nandus’ tortured imagination conjured up another foe to vanquish. Marius tilted his head, following the King’s progress through the empty vessel.

“Right, then,” he said after fifteen minutes, as Nandus’ assault showed no sign of abating. “I’ll… I’ll just go and wait over here, shall I?” He refused to consider the chances of getting this lunatic back to the shore. He simply refused.

Instead, he stepped away from the hull and found a small rise where he could lay back and knit his hands behind his head, and pretend he was lying in a field somewhere to rest off a particularly good drink, instead of waiting at the bottom of the ocean for an insane centaur with delusions of grandeur to finish beating up a ship full of nothing. His father had often told him that life was a funny old thing, which was certainly true when you were a successful merchant with a string of mistresses long enough to tire out three healthy country boys. But when it came to sheer comic potential, Marius thought, life had nothing on being dead. I’d laugh right now, if not for the fact that I have no idea how I’d stop.

Eventually, the rate of violence within the ship slowed down, and then all that was left was the sound of Nandus’ climbing back up to the deck. Marius stopped his contemplation of the tiny krill swirling before his eyes and padded over to his former place at the side of the hull. Nandus appeared at the railing.

“Victory!” he cried, leaping over the edge and landing before Marius. He spread his arms, and deposited a pile of small, black objects on the ground. Marius knelt, and picked one up.

“Barnacles?”

“Spoils of war!” Nandus leaned down and, without any sign that such a thing might be considered unusual, began packing his chest cavity with the tiny shellfish. “Stolen from the very heart of Oceanus’ empire. Oh, how he’ll shake his fist when he finds out what I’ve done. How the name of Nandus will stick in his throat!”

“Yes, he’ll certainly be miffed when he realises how many, uh, spoils you’ve got,” Marius agreed. Absently, he patted Nandus on the rump. “Good boy.” A proud neigh rumbled through him. Great, he thought. He likes me. “May I suggest we make haste, sire, before Oceanus and his cronies return and… drown us or something?”

“Good thinking, man. Yes. Let us proceed, post-haste.” Nandus galloped a few steps away. “This way, I think.”

Marius sighed. “Woah!” he shouted, and watched in amusement as Nandus’ stopped in his tracks. Marius raised two fingers to his lips, and projected the sound of a short, sharp whistle at the stationary King. Nandus turned in a wide-arsed loop, and came trotting back to him. He lowered his head, and bumped against Marius’ shoulder.

“What is the meaning of this?” he said, rubbing his head against Marius’ arm. “How dare you speak to me in such a manner?”

“Not you, Your Majesty” Marius said, quickly turning his head left and right to take in the ocean floor. “Our steeds. We need transport for our escape.”

“Transport? Where?”

“Here, sire.” Marius indicated an empty spot next to him. “Who else, sire, but your favourite, Littleboots?”