Wolf's-head, Rogues of Bindar Book I (33 page)

Valere gave a
sullen twitch. “What of it?”

The Dakkaw’s
face congested. “Refusing to humour me, Captain, will result in
your being thrust below with Cedrek. Together the two of you may
review your obstinate streaks. For free room and board, I demand
benevolence! Boons which number to the count of two!—first, a
reception of capable company, second, an earful of salient news
from the outside.”

Sensing no
alternative, Valere told a tale of how he had escaped the
Constables, witnessing Tustok and Yullen being torn apart by
snauzzerhounds. The Dakkaw’s eyes gleamed at the news, especially
about the violent capture. Valere affirmed that he had barely
escaped the death-hounds by scrambling up the cliffside by the sea,
hiding in clumps of furze where he could to stake out Gooler’s
Point. Baus related a much more optimistic tale, of how he had
fooled the magician Nuzbek who had been sentenced to the flaptrap
and had escaped the compound only after suffering days in the
flaptrap and flown about the air on an occult-rigged parachute
while clutching jars of miniaturized homunculi.

The Dakkaw
laughed at the ludicrous visual and listened with fascination when
Baus described of the magician’s sentence to the ‘hive’ for a
jocular misunderstanding. “Nuzbek seems an interesting fellow,”
remarked the ogre. “I would rather like to meet him one day as he
has quite a summary of squalid little tricks up his sleeve.”

Baus put on a
sour face. “Perhaps you would not think Nuzbek so ‘enchanting’ if
you really knew him. He is actually a rebel neomancer of Mismerion
who applied to the Circle but was denied.”

“Indeed!” The
Dakkaw looked more interested. “Mismerion is in the far southern
reaches of Sloe. I should have guessed. To anyone of learned
disposition, he would know these places. Hardly are ‘neomancers’ a
breed more than obscure sorcerers with strange ideas and inordinate
abilities. They are of an ancient lineage, once known as the
‘Neons’.”

Valere pulled
heavily on his beard. “You seem to know a lot about these people.
Their history sounds ominous. I knew there was something sinister
about that pretentious Nuzbek . . .”

The Dakkaw was
only obliged to agree; he wanted to know more but Baus had become
peevish and claimed that there was little that he could say other
than Ulisa was a neomancer and Trimestrius a nobleman who had
crossed the magician.

“What of
Rilben?” inquired Valere, motioning to the meal plates. “Does he
not eat?”

The Dakkaw set
down his fork. “Rilben does not eat in the normal sense. I have not
wholly discovered the method of his ingestion. Though the rats in
the manor seem to avoid him. Here is the nub of the matter: he is a
tragic substitute for dinner company!”

Baus nodded in
sympathy.

Valere gave a
grunt. “What does the ape’s eating habits have to do with us?”

“Nothing. Let
us speak of other matters.”

The matter was
dropped. The evening dragged on. The Dakkaw, pensive, mercurial,
enjoyed their tales and exploits with polite courtesy and became
ever drowsier with the wine. The twain secreted hopes that false
conviviality may bring them an opportunity for acquiring his
keys.

The
opportunity did not arise. The ogre cleaned up the dishes and
repaired below with a plate of bread and a wing of pheasant for
Cedrek. The dim light flickered between the cracks of the trap.
Muffled sounds similar to those of yester-eve drifted up to Baus’s
and Valere’s ears. The Dakkaw tarried longer than usual, perhaps to
tidy up the area and trade words with Cedrek, but then he returned,
smiling under the dim sconces, requesting that his guests retire to
their chambers.

* * *

Dawn came
slowly: a soft maroon light filtered through the oriels and lit the
manor in a somewhat eerier ambience of melancholy than normal. Left
to their own devices, Baus and Valere were less industrious in
their undertakings of escape than yesterday. Somehow they knew they
were trapped and remained morosely resigned to their plight. They
paced the floor, hectored one another, traded spiteful jibes and
stale jests. Rilben was nowhere to be seen. What was he up to? They
beat the walls, stamped their feet, made rude faces at each other
and as a last resort, snatched at each other’s noses, seeing who
would object the loudest. They even played hide and seek, and ‘Whig
the Rings’, (without Rilben of course, who was still not to be
found)—anything to stave off the ineffable boredom.

Baus
considered anew the ganglestick. Certainly it was an adjunct of
puissance, likely the only appurtenance that could offer a chance
at undermining the Dakkaw’s supremacy. Baus had gained a more
useful mastery of the adjunct, smiting Valere here and there when
whim would have it. But to pad within proximity of the Dakkaw’s
presence and tap him definitively was a risk perilously fraught.
The man’s awesome bulk was deceiving; he was always on the lookout,
a leap and bound away from pouncing on them like a panther. At
night he slept behind locked doors; by day he was alert as a fox.
At dinnertime he was shrewdly vigilant; he could read their minds
like a yantler. After imbibing large quantities of spirit, the man
was still indomitable! If Baus ever launched the baton wantonly, he
must be sure of his idea—only striking with its tip, grazing an
exposed part of the body. Only this would bring about a winning
outcome, for to miss or blunder—the Dakkaw would confiscate the
talisman, and all opportunity would be lost.

A week
passed.

Sunlight
deprived their skin of nourishment. Over-fed and under-exercised,
Baus and Valere were becoming a pair of pasty-faced louts. They
were bored, hot-tempered and apathetic in regards to the Dakkaw’s
forced conviviality. No number of rash endeavours seemed enough to
secure their freedom. With sallow-eyed restraint Baus reviewed the
fact—that they had run blindly into a trap, from one prison to
another. They would have gladly exchanged this musty dim-lit manse
for Heagram’s non-comforts and mix of misfits.

On the eighth
evening, the Dakkaw yawned after their story-telling and made
motions that it was time to retire before tending to Cedrek’s
feeding in Bisiguth’s crypts.

Perhaps it was
with desperate exhaustion that Valere decided to take matters into
his own hands. The ogre had no sooner disappeared into the crypts,
when the seaman had gathered up a nail-studded plank primed for
action. With eyes grim as a raven’s, he sat crouched by the
trapdoor, waiting. Baus pleaded with him to abandon whatever
impulse he had, but the headstrong seaman would hear nothing of it.
He called Baus a coward, an insufferable ‘mamby-pamby’.

The trapdoor
lifted. The Dakkaw’s head popped up like a cork and Valere thrust
his weapon down, sweating with the effort. The blow was curtailed.
The ogre thrust up a shoulder, moving faster than a snake to
Valere’s vicious sweep, and deflected the blow, thwarting what
might have been a fatal strike. The ogre burst up the steps with a
fantastic speed, sending Valere flying back onto a meal sack. A
backhand slap had the club skidding across the floor.

Baus gasped in
dismay. The seaman sat there blinking like an owl. He rubbed his
jaw dazedly and shook his head while Baus retrieved the plank and
gained wits enough not to think of employing it. He witnessed the
ogre rise up to his full stature glaring down at him with a
chilling scrutiny, and he dropped the weapon penitently.

“So! You
insolent puppy!” the Dakkaw roared. “Would you be so foolhardy as
to raise wood against me?”

Baus spoke in
deferential tone. “Nothing so vapid, Dakkaw! You misinterpret my
intent. I was about to reprimand Valere for his insubordination.”
Slinking forward, he shook the plank in front of Valere’s face and
made motions to inflict punishment.

Valere shrank
back, admonishing Baus for his contemptible treachery, “You
lily-livered turncoat! Can you not see that the filthy ogre is the
foe, not I?”

“Dispense with
your insults, redbeard!” boomed Baus. “I fear you are addled with
spite. I abhor deception, particularly breaches of etiquette upon a
host. The Dakkaw is a man of honour—no less our host. Sit there and
fume if you must! At some point in a man’s life, he must come to
terms with his lonely feelings and know he is in need of trusting
company which is sadly lacking in this world.”

The Dakkaw
nodded agreeably. “Invariably this is true.” He clacked his
teeth.

Baus faced the
Dakkaw with smiling courtesy. “As a token of respect for your
extended hospitality, Dakkaw, I wish to tender you this gratuity.”
He offered him the ganglestick, tip first, and fabricated with a
deep bow.

The Dakkaw’s
brows rose, then fell in quiet resentment when he studied the
object. The item, though amiably presented, was a strangely
impulsive benefaction, and by all means an item of suspicion. The
ogre was overcome, however, with a glittery curiosity that would
not be sidestepped. “A noble gesture, Baus—considering the fact
that you know I am an avid collector. In truth, this ebon trinket
you offer is not my real object of desire. Rather, the jade
necklace around your throat. It has me enthralled, more than this
scrubby piece of hornbow you hold.”

“Nonsense!”
cried Baus. “You speak of my seaman’s charm, a legacy from my
father, which never leaves my neck. Here—this ganglestick is much
more of an endearing treasure, formerly the property of the
neomancer Nuzbek.”

“Is it?” the
Dakkaw croaked, striking palms together with enthusiasm. “Why did
you not tell me of this earlier? . . . let’s have a look at the
curio.” With an eagerness born of a collector, he reached to
examine the baton. The cold tip brushed against his fingers and
Baus grinned as the Dakkaw’s mewling cry filled the hall. The
Dakkaw’s mottled face prickled into an expression of stricken
hatred—before he was frozen rock solid.

Taking a
stately bow, Baus exhaled a sigh of triumph. “So, you ungrateful
lubber,” he blurted at Valere. “Am I so nefarious now?” He hurried
over to help the seaman to his feet.

Valere let out
a hoot of amazement. “You are a knave second to none, Baus! All the
time I thought you for a pantywaist—now here you are the cleverest
rogue of all!”

Baus ignored
the compliment. “Swiftly now, redbeard! We must secure an exit from
this squalor. Little more than a dozen minutes remain. Mind! We
mustn’t touch the Dakkaw. He will awaken and mash us to pulp.”

Valere
snorted. “No need to worry! Many more mysteries are now explained
from back in Heagram’s yard.”

“Perhaps!”
Baus muttered. “More mysteries than you would think . . . Let us
make haste; much work is to be completed.”

“What of our
Dakkaw? He looks precariously poised and still more venomous than I
like.” He gazed at the glowering giant and put forth a questing
finger.

“Stop!” Baus
quickly slammed his hand away. “Do you not understand the danger?
Touch the ogre and we die!”

Valere
lumbered back, peeved. “The only way out is the portal.” He jerked
a thumb toward the brass bound door. “It is blocked, and the only
way to open it is by the key in his belt.” Unconsciously the seaman
reached out to secure the item from the Dakkaw’s waist but pulled
it back. “We can’t keep stunning him with the little magic
stick.”

Baus rubbed
his chin in thought. “You are right. We would have to watchdog him
from minute to minute. Not feasible. Should both of us doze . . .”
He left that possibility dangling in the air. “Drakes! We must bind
this loathsome brute, then secure his keys, and be away as quickly
as possible.”

“But how can
we manifest all this legerdemain without touching him? We are not
magicians! When the rascal awakes, we are doomed, as you point
out.”

Baus vented a
frustrated sigh. “This is where we must use our brains, Valere. Let
us gather rope at least; we can pre-loop it around his neck, and
his feet. On my signal, the two of us shall ensnare him before he
cognizes what it is all about.”

Valere
scratched at his brow. “The plan sounds risky. Much could go wrong,
yet I suppose we have nothing better to do.”

Baus turned
him a peeled-back snarl, an indication that the quality of the plan
was unquestionable.

Each set to
work; Valere fetched coils of rope from the repositories in the
living room. The seaman clambered onto the huge table and looped a
generous coil over the chandelier. He twined its iron chain which
dangled down from the gloom. Baus crafted a slip knot in wide
circumference around the Dakkaw’s legs so as not to touch the
creature, and to enable him to hook the ogre’s shins in an
instant’s yank.

Valere
signalled that the task was finished. Baus peered upward, nodding
in appraisal that Valere’s lariat was sound. Any critical error
would invite doom.

The Dakkaw
stood immobile; his knotted visage still blazed in a most
abominable fashion. It was almost as if some canny recognition
lurked behind that piglet face, that he would suddenly come to life
and crush them both yet. The evil glare continued, sparking a
shiver down Baus’s spine; either way, Valere and he were
committed.

Baus told his
friend one last time: “Remember, once I have the loop ready, I
shall signal you to keep the ogre at bay. Do not shirk your duty.
Secure the neck harness! I, in turn, shall pull my lasso taut and
rear back to avoid his feet which must become bludgeoning
instruments.”

Valere
proffered a reckless laugh, assuring Baus of his cogency in the
plan.

Baus issued
the signal. With celerity, the seaman hooked the loop about the
Dakkaw’s neck, pulling hard when the pale, flabby neck seemed most
vulnerable.

The Dakkaw
lurched to life. His eyes glowed with blue sparks of wrath. Maw
gaping ferociously and yellow tongue lolling, he struggled like a
trapped bear, with Baus yanking hard on the rope, causing a
terrific force to coil about the Dakkaw’s lower shins.