Wolf's-head, Rogues of Bindar Book I (16 page)

Dighcan
interposed a rendition of his own pathetic chronicle, explaining
how he had forced indignities upon Madame Faul, the Snogmald Tavern
owner’s wife. She had taken great offence to the acts while he was
in the throes of drunken debauchery. He went on to list other
crimes, which the men laughed over and acknowledged with slab-sided
grins.

Zestes spoke,
revealing his presence as a notorious pirate of the sea who had
been beached by his so-called comrades. They rode the black mast
and black flag of the caravel ‘Karkassus’. In an attempt to
survive, he had ‘borrowed’ three wegmors from farmer Yahason to
trade for sustenance. In time, the local Heagram constabulary had
caught up with him; a week later, he was sentenced to fifty years
for seaside pillagings and chicaneries numbering in the many. He
was touted as the leader of the freebooter band, ‘Mixtus’, known by
not just one of the sombre convicts.

Of his own
accord, Paltuik admitted that murdering the blacksmith’s brother,
black-tongued Aingst of Heagram had been foolish. It was on a dark,
beobar-shrouded section of the road between Heagram and Tavilnook
that the two brigands, Aingst and Paltuik had lain in hiding,
waylaying the moneylender Lapousis regularly known to travel the
road at a certain hour by wegmor. They had leaped upon him, stolen
his purse, bludgeoned him to death for his three hundred cils and
his pouch of gold and then made off with his wegmor. The two
robbers had argued viciously, with Aingst proving the loser. After
hiding Aingst’s body in a secluded glade after a vicious brawl,
Paltuik had fled with bloody hands to Heagram, but had failed to
consider the beast he rode which was easily recognized and he was
seized by the Heagram constabulary.

Quintlo
recounted his own glum chronicle which began almost as an anecdote
a winter before last when he had stowed away in the hold of the
cargo hauler, ‘
Sea Dancer
’ sailing from Brislin. As the
vessel lay docked under the new moon by the old pier at Heagram,
Quintlo attempted to steal away with a double sack of jewels
purloined from the captain, but was caught off-guard by wandering
dock patrol. Seizing the gemstones, the watchmen dragged him to
prison for accounting.

More tales
were exchanged. Eventually, the men took to yawning and their
beds—except Baus, who lay awake, remaining very alert to what
nocturnal shenanigans Nuzbek would attempt next.

V

Nuzbek’s
gambit was not long in coming. The moon had risen to its zenith
when Baus saw the magician sit upright in his bed. His gaze drifted
out the window where Ausse shuffled about on the veranda like an
old geyser. The magician roused his chums; they gathered toe
clipper, twine and jade cape, and crept to the window.

Nuzbek reached
past Dighcan’s supine form. He ensorcelled Ausse. He ordered Nolpin
to take the accessories and they snuck out into the night leaving
Baus blinking in amazement.

Without a
thought, Baus padded down to the Flanks field and established a
clear avenue. He slunk into the darkness, stalking Nuzbek and his
cronies with cunning. The night was cool—a silver moon shone high
in the sky. The ramparts were lit in chiaroscuro. Keenly aware of
mishap, Baus saw Nuzbek loitering amongst the dwarf-shrubs in the
place where the jars lay buried.

Nolpin and the
magician lay down cape, ropes and clipper and poked about, sizing
four equidistant holes along the outside of the fabric. They
managed to fit four equal-sized pieces of rope through each hole:
Nuzbek gave a harrumph of satisfaction. Baus stared, fascinated.
Nuzbek drew the rope tighter together to form a primitive grip of
the four ends and pulled the cape up into the shape of a balloon.
Germakk’s largish head began to nod in his post up top the
watchtower. Nuzbek hoisted the canopy up in the air. He studied it
critically. From Baus’s perspective, the invention looked like an
upside down umbrella, or some vile parachute. Nuzbek drew forth a
strange, amber-sheened pyramid from his cloak; he ignored Nolpin
and Boulm’s mewling remonstrations.

Baus frowned.
The lurid luminescence of the pyramid was unsettling and he
resisted the urge to creep up and gain a more compelling view.
Nuzbek placed the adjunct carefully beside the other equipment and
articulated more vocables. He gesticulated. The pyramid seemed to
seethe with a malfeasant pulse, suddenly to vibrate very fulsomely
with a low hum.

The device
flickered suddenly hues of an eerie maroon, then changed to an
eldritch, polychromatic flavour. A spray of light struck out at the
umbrella. The fabrication blossomed to life, canvas bellying as if
with invisible air. It righted itself up. Nuzbek grabbed at the
ropes which he gripped with triumph. In the manner of a gangly
balloon, the conveyance began to float up in a slow motion,
hovering half way up the wall, leaving Nuzbek’s boots dangling
above the ground like magic ornaments.

Nolpin
stumbled back on his heels. Boulm stood staring frigidly, crossing
his fingers as if to ward off a curse.

Nuzbek rose a
good two feet before the buoyancy of the device slackened and left
him stranded. His muddy boots scraped against the stone. Muttering
nonsensical words, the magician began to sink slowly. Finally his
feet touched the turf and the spell was broken.

Baus crept
back with profound wonder. So here was Nuzbek’s plan! To elevate
himself over the wall, treasures and cronies and all.

Nuzbek did not
seem entirely satisfied with the manner events were proceeding in,
evidenced by the way he slapped at Boulm, cursing him silently as
the lackey tried to assist the magic device by lifting him up by
the shins.

The pyramid
refused to offer more magic.

Nuzbek kicked
it.

The pyramid
became vibrationless. Nuzbek’s face grew dark with annoyance. His
eyes lit suddenly with an idea, as if recalling some litany
recessed in the back of his sinister memory. An arcane verse
dredged from time fell forth from his lips:

Agowon Subra
Satchwen!

The pyramid
pulsed to life, sputtering an incongruous light. The magician
expressed exultation and snatched at the parachute anew.

A shout lanced
from the direction of the tower.

Baus jerked
around in time to catch Germakk clomping down the stairwell. He was
scrambling at a great rate. Baus dove back toward the
dormitory.

Nuzbek uttered
an expletive and snatched up his accessories. He seized Nolpin by
the elbow and they both ran at a full tilt toward the barracks.
Boulm trailed behind.

Baus whisked
past Ausse, swiftly concealing himself in his bed, dragging the
covers over his head as he busied himself with controlling his
breathing. He was beside himself with wrath: through excessive
risk, he could have compromised his plans.

Nuzbek, Nolpin
and Boulm burst through the door. They scuttled to their pallets
and pretended slumber, while Baus, glancing through the fold of the
blanket, saw the magician fervently caching his parachute under his
own blanket, with Germakk’s silhouette sliding through the barred
window like an eel. The guard pressed his square face against the
bars of the window. His expression was of suspicious displeasure.
He seemed unsatisfied that the rhythmic rising and falling of the
men’s chests was innocent.

Germakk
returned to inspect his workmate with significant scepticism. Ausse
appeared enmeshed in some sort of trance, frozen like an ice
statue, unnaturally poised. Even the wave of a provoking hand
seemed not to disturb him.

Germakk seemed
further mystified by his partner’s blue eyes which remained
glassily open as a hoarfish’s, and at the absence of any twitch of
mouth or tremor of cheek. He circled round the back and gave his
partner a slap on the face. Instantly the sentry jerked himself to
attention, blinking like an owl.

“Never sneak
up on me like that!” Ausse cried, white-eyed.

“Sneak up on
you? What are you babbling about?” Germakk snatched at Ausse’s
weapon. “It’s not healthy to be dozing standing up, is it?
Especially when some villain can sneak up behind you and slit your
throat.”

Ausse growled,
“You’re one to talk! What are you doing down from your perch?
Graves’ll have your privates if he hears how you abandoned your
watch.”

Germakk blew
hot air through his lips. “Graves is an overbearing oaf. I saw
furtive movements in the yard and I went to investigate certain
sinister peeps.”

“Really? What
kind of peeps?” jeered Ausse.

His colleague
pointed toward the north wall where the clinging shadows hung
eerily. “Gibberish, monosyllables, similar things—but I chanced to
glimpse a large bat, or some kind of bulb. It was rising and
falling, then suddenly it was motionless, as if suspended in the
air—a most bizarre thing—given the circumstances—enough to give a
man the heebies.”

Ausse peered
at him as if he were mad. “You’re a ninny, Germakk. Perhaps you saw
ghosts, or even coyotes masquerading as ghosts, gambolling up the
wall like floating spectres.”

“Now you’re
mocking me,” groused Germakk.

“Smarten up!
Too many late nights with no ale has made you hallucinating bulbs
and bats and other floating phenomena.”

“Shut up.”
Germakk grimaced. “You’d better watch your back, Ausse. If there’s
one thing I know, is that skullduggery’s real. Take care! You’ll be
the first to die. Don’t trust any of these hooligans. Especially
Dighcan and his ‘buddy’ the magician. They’re murderous wretches.
If you get your mouth wagging to Graves, remember, he shall hear of
your sleep-walking.”

Ausse opened
his mouth, but Germakk had already stalked off with a curse.

Digesting the
information shrewdly, Baus gathered his wits. He did not wish to
attempt any more excursions to the north wall, nor did he sleep any
more that night.

* * *

At breakfast,
Graves assembled the prisoners. He pulled Germakk and his crony
aside and seemed discomfited by the news they had to offer.

The prisoners
huddled in a sullen knot, conversing in desultory whispers. The
three gaolers scoured the barracks: a rigorous inspection that
revealed nothing of interest, save for Nuzbek’s poke-holed cape and
some frayed bits of rope which prompted Graves to pace ever the
more fretfully before the group.

“Last night or
the night before,” he announced, “a remarkable incident took place,
insofar as several articles, including my four bottled homunculi
seem to have disappeared.”

Dighcan put on
a shocked expression. “A tragic loss, Captain, and I wholly
sympathize with your loss.”

“Silence!”
thundered Graves. “If the jars are not returned to me at once, you
shall all receive punitive ministrations.”

Dighcan
stirred in anger. “This is unjust! How can we be blamed?”

Graves waved
an angry hand. “Easily. Unless the jars are returned, the edict
stands. The canisters did not just walk off on their own
accord—somebody appropriated them and hid them somewhere.”

“An
implausible deed!” objected Ausse. “We were on vigilant watch.”

Graves gave a
sarcastic grunt. “I have conversed with Oppet on this matter and he
has concluded that none passed the gate—in fact, his testimony
supports the theory that you solely are to blame for the theft
perpetrated on your watch.”

Germakk and
Ausse stammered. The prisoners bantered; Nuzbek seemed to pick at
his teeth in a most reflective manner.

“Well,
Nuzbek,” called Graves jeeringly. “What have you to say about this?
You seem quite collected. The weird curios were yours, after
all.”

“The mystery
is wholly perplexing. I would hazard a guess that the imp
Trimestrius or the mountebank Woisper managed to escape. The spells
of containment are not altogether infallible, or possibly, by sheer
chance, one or more of the wretches may have wrenched open a jar
and returned to rescue his colleagues.” He scratched at his chin
with a certain doubtful reflection. “A more apposite theory is that
one of your prisoners stole them. If the miscreants are not
apprehended, the risk upon us becomes insuperable! I advise you,
Captain Graves, to take reparative action!”

“Do not
counsel me!” snapped the warden.

Nuzbek made an
insolent sound. “You have heard my opinion and now you know what is
required.”

Graves turned
sharply to Baus and Weavil. “And you troublemaker—you harbour more
knowledge of Nuzbek than anyone here. Any theories?”

“None,” cried
Weavil, his eyelids pinched. “Decipher your own conundrums. You
shan’t receive any beneficence from me.”

Baus
interceded a polite concession. “Weavil remains slightly agitated
for reasons of his midgetness. You must forgive him for his
impertinence.”

Graves gave a
caustic snort. “Weavil has dug his own hole, and so must lie in
it.”

Weavil chirped
contempt. “Bilgewater! I could care less for your theories or
Nuzbek’s, regarding the collection of imps.”

Graves spoke
with easy irony. “Then who will save us when we are all murdered in
our sleep, as Nuzbek says by these fey creatures?”

“I don’t know,
maybe Santa Claus—or Buster the Bear,” growled Weavil.

Baus, sensing
ill effects to come, divulged what he knew of Nuzbek’s chicanery.
But while on the first sentence he desisted, judging that such
disclosures would invariably hinder his own cause—particularly in
reference to his own curfew violations. He opted for a simpler, if
not broader explanation: “Captain, these freakish individuals are
alive!—warlocks or sorcerers I believe they are, of some insidious
nature. From Nuzbek’s disjointed hints, I believe they are invested
with certain evil faculties. What do you say to that, Nuzbek?”