40 – Birds of a Feather

  The day after they questioned Keene and devised a rough plan of action, Haley led the captured horses to a village market outside Westview while Ward and Lisa made their way on foot to the city. Regardless of the malevolent entity’s influence on him, Ward wasn’t ready to let Keene or his surviving henchman loose, so they’d bound and locked them in the stable.

  Lisa had written detailed instructions on what to do with them for the caretaker, who, according to his note, would be returning that same day. In short, he was supposed to leave them alone, locked up tight, while Ward and the others sought intervention from the Assembly marshal stationed in Westview. With any luck, the lawman would apprehend the two men and decide what to do with them. By then, if all went well, the trouble with Dame Ruby would be resolved.

  Keene had seemed forthright, and his information had been freely given, but Ward wasn’t sure how much to trust. One thing was sure; if they rode into town with the hunting party’s horses, they could count on Dame Ruby getting wind of it. Ward decided it would be better if they slipped in on one of the smaller streets from the north, just two travelers afoot among many. He pulled his collar up and tilted his hat down low, hiding much of his face; Lisa wore a gray, hooded cloak over her travel robes, and he could hardly see her under the deep cowl.

  A thought occurred to him as they walked through the narrow streets toward the upper district of the city. “You think that gelding with the demon inside it will give Haley any trouble?”

  Lisa looked at him, but Grace answered from his other side, “I told you not to worry. It’ll be a little wild for a few days, but the demon has to work with the horse’s mind; it’s not going to be able to plot elaborate escape plans.”

  “Haley’s good with horses,” Lisa added.

  “Yeah.” Ward frowned. He’d wanted to abandon the animals, but Haley and Grace had changed his mind. Apparently, the one Ward had taken was a trained warhorse, and several of the other mounts were just as valuable. Haley thought she could make upwards of twenty thousand glories for them, even if she sold them at a discount to move things along. Ward snorted, shaking his head. “I still feel sorry for whoever buys that gelding.”

  Grace joined in his dark humor, chuckling. “He’ll make a good workhorse with all that pent-up rage.”

  Lisa wasn’t in the mood. “Please stay focused, you two. We have much to do before meeting Haley tonight”—she looked up at the sky where the sun was already descending toward the western horizon—“and only a few hours in which to do it!”

  “I know, I know. Relax. It’s not really all that much.” Ward paused at the corner and looked left and right. “This is as good a place as any to separate. You go talk to your cousin, and I’ll find the marshal’s office.”

  “It’s near the central town square. Just north of it, across from the city watch’s jail.”

  Ward nodded. “Perfect. See you at the meeting spot at sundown.” She hesitated, and Ward looked more closely at her—cheeks rosy in the cold air, lips parted as though she was considering what to say. He tried to smile encouragingly, but he felt it looked more like an awkward grimace under the beard he’d sprouted over the last few days. “Just feel him out. You’re a good judge of character. Keene said your cousin was clean, but if he acts strange at all, just play dumb and make an excuse to go shopping or whatever.”

  Lisa nodded again, this time more firmly. “Right. See you at dusk, hopefully with some help.”

  Ward watched her walk away up the street, the staff he’d looted from the mage held firmly in her grasp. She liked it, and he didn’t see himself using it much, not with guns and swords to juggle, so he’d told her to keep it. They still didn’t know exactly what it did, but Lisa theorized it might make spells channeled through it more effective. He glanced at Grace. “Wish I could send you with her.”

  “You don’t trust her?”

  “No, I do. I mean, we’ve been in some shit together—a few times. That means something to a guy like me.”

  “A Marine?”

  Ward chuckled and shrugged. “Maybe. Anyway, what I’m worried about is that she’ll let her cousin fool her. That, or the Circle will have people watching his place.”

  Grace nodded and started walking, prompting Ward to get moving. “You went over those fears with her. She’ll be careful. She’s resourceful and clever, if a bit na?ve. I think her recent brushes with death might have opened her eyes a little.”

  “Yeah.” Ward watched the street, hoping to see a cab or, as they called them in Westview, a “steamcoach.” He’d walked nearly a mile when he finally saw one and waved it down. The driver was a short, hirsute man wearing a flat, wide-brimmed hat, and he waved toward the back of his brass and black-lacquered wooden vehicle.

  “Where to?”

  “The central market.”

  “Ayup. Here we go.” He spat off the side of his perch, then the coach burbled and hissed; the gears in the weird rear-mounted engine clacked and cranked, and it trundled down the road at a good clip.

  When they got to the square, Ward paid the coachman and then stood on a corner, surveying the shops and stalls set up in the busy market. “What do you think? Alchemist or marshal first?”

  “There’s an alchemy shop right there”—Grace pointed to a small storefront on the far corner of the square sporting a sign that featured brightly colored vials and flasks—“so I’d stop there on the way to the marshal’s office.”

  Ward grunted in agreement, then pushed his way through the crowds across the square, his stomach growling and yawning hollowly with every delectable scent that wafted into his nose—fried dough, grilled meat, baked goods, and all the accompanying herbs and spices. When he reached the far edge of the market, only a few dozen steps from the alchemy shop, he succumbed to his hunger and bought four kebab-style skewers of meat and roasted vegetables. Prize in hand, he found a corner of a bench to sit on with other street diners.

  “Couldn’t resist, huh?” Grace asked, crouching beside him, her back to a nearby stall.

  “You don’t know what it’s like,” Ward growled. “I could have eaten everything on that guy’s cart. This’ll barely put a dent in my hunger.” He looked at her there, crouched in the shadows. “Hiding?”

  “There are a lot of people about, and I saw more than one pair of shiny eyes.”

  “You can…hide if you want. I mean, for real. I promise—next time the, uh, wolf comes out, I’m going to try to remind myself that you’re a friend.”

  “You say that, and I know you mean it, Ward, but things have a way of getting away from you when your…animal emerges. What if you’re in the middle of a fight, or you're chasing someone, or—”

  “I’m not going to forget about you, Grace.” Ward tapped his forehead. “It’s locked in.”

  “Ugh, fine! Well, don’t do anything violent. I’ll talk to you again when you’re away from the square.” As she finished speaking, Ward took a bite of his kebab, blinked, and she was gone. He shrugged and finished his impromptu meal, wiping his mouth with a rough piece of paper towel he’d gotten from the seller. Then, he threw his scorched kebab sticks and the napkin into a waste bin near the edge of the square. Three minutes later, he entered the very aromatic, almost too-warm alchemist’s shop.

  Ward walked past racks of scented oils, perfumes, tonics, and medicinal mixtures, clearing his throat as he stepped up to the counter. The proprietor, a stooped, old fellow with tufts of gray hair sticking out on the sides of his head, had his back to him and was busily stirring a small copper kettle on a gas flame. “A moment. What are you seeking?”

  “A couple of things. Let’s start with antidotes.”

  “My goodness. What a rumbling voice you have. A large fellow, then?” The man glanced over his shoulder. His eyes flew wide when he looked into the shadows cast by Ward’s hat, and he quickly turned away. Ward could see his arm trembling as he continued to stir the steaming concoction. “Sir, I meant no offense.”

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  “You haven’t offended me. Will it be long before I have your attention?”

  The alchemist reached down and twisted the knob beside his little gas burner, extinguishing the flame. “Well, sir, if I don’t stir this as it cools, the mixture will separate, and then I’ll have wasted my whole morning. Would you tolerate my split attention for five minutes or so?”

  Ward removed his hat and set it on the counter to the side. “Yeah, that’s fine. Listen, I’m about to go up against some criminal bastards, and they’ve been known to use alchemical mixtures against their enemies. I don’t know what it was, but it was green and exploded into a green fog that made me lose consciousness. You got anything to counteract something like that?”

  “Sounds like a potent mixture of Letharis Mist. I can make you an ointment that will absorb most of the active agents in the vapors. You’ll need to smear it in your nostrils and under your nose before you encounter it. Your whiskers will prove beneficial as they’ll take up a lot of the ointment.” He glanced at Ward again, this time locking eyes with him briefly before continuing, “It’ll work once—maybe twice—but then you’ll need to reapply the ointment.”

  “Okay. Secondly, I was wondering if you had any antidote for silver poisoning.”

  The alchemist continued to stir and didn’t respond for several seconds. When Ward was about to repeat the question, he cleared his throat and said, “Sir, do you mean in regard to its effects on those with lycan bloodlines?”

  “I saw the way you looked at me. What do you think?”

  “A more wolfish man I’ve not met, that’s what I think. Yet, here you stand, speaking to me as any normal fellow would do. Your bloodline must be well advanced, and perhaps there’s another that balances the bestial nature?” He phrased it like a question, and Ward could see the spoon tracing a jagged, trembling path through the mixture in the pot again.

  “Don’t be afraid. You’re right—maybe on both counts. The fact of the matter is that I’m in control most of the time, even when my animal side comes out. Still, these assholes filled me with silver-tipped arrows the last time I fought with them, and I was wondering…” Ward trailed off; the alchemist knew what he wanted.

  “The only cure that I know of is to remove the silver.” He looked at Ward and shrugged apologetically. “If I knew more, I’d tell you. There are alchemists on the higher worlds with more knowledge. Perhaps there’s an answer for you off-world.”

  “Fair enough.” Ward sighed and leaned an elbow on the counter. “Tell me, do you have anything like those sleeping bombs I described?”

  “The Letharis Mist?”

  “Right.”

  “I can make something similar. I have the toxins mixed; I just need to apply a misting catalyst and put them in a voided glass ball. They’ll be delicate, but no more so than any glass container.”

  Ward frowned, at first wondering what the man meant by “voided,” then he realized he probably meant he had some way of removing the air inside the ball before adding in the mixture. “You need to ‘void’ the ball so the mixture doesn’t explode into a mist?”

  “Precisely. Contact with the air will cause the vapors to erupt.”

  “How long to make me a handful of them?”

  The alchemist finally set down his spoon and turned, smiling at Ward as he adjusted his spectacles. “I can prepare your ointment and five Letharis grenades within an hour. I must say, I hope these men you’re up against are on the wrong side of the law. You wouldn’t be—”

  “I’ll be working with the marshal,” Ward said, putting himself several steps ahead of reality.

  “Oh! That’s good, sir. I was beginning to feel a bit uneasy about all of this.” He waved a hand, his face reddening as he hastily added, “Nothing to do with your nature, sir! I have great respect for sorcerers, and well, as for your bloodline—sure, there are stories, but I’ve an open mind. I trained at Moonmount Academy, after all. I’ve seen my share of strange things.”

  Ward nodded, rubbing his chin. “That so? Do you think other people seeing my appearance would come to the same conclusion you did?”

  “I don’t think so, sir. Not many. It was the eyes for me; those amber bands are well-documented, but only someone with an education in esoteric arts would know that. Of course, then you asked about an antidote for silver poisoning… Anyhow, most folks, when they see your eyes, will only see how they glow and look away, afraid of offending a sorcerer. By the way, is…” He hesitated, swallowing noisily and looking side to side as though afraid someone was listening.

  “Go ahead.”

  “Is—is your tongue silver, sir?”

  Ward smiled and shook his head. “A trick of the light.” He put his hat atop his head and turned to the door. “See you in an hour.” He hardly heard the shopkeeper’s agreement and farewell because his mind was racing with the implications of his increasingly exotic appearance. On one hand, it might help with intimidation or gaining respect from truculent individuals, but it also made him stand out like a sore thumb. He was big, had wolfish eyes and, apparently, a wolfish countenance, his eyes glowed, and his tongue was silver—“Fuck me,” he sighed, shaking his head again.

  “Who?” Grace asked, suddenly walking beside him. He’d gone north up the main road out of the square, so he supposed she felt safer in the sparser crowd.

  “Nobody. Everybody. I don’t know. I’m starting to look like a circus freak.”

  “No, you aren’t! You’re handsome, if a bit brutish. Just give yourself a good shave and get out of those torn clothes, and—”

  “Shit! My new armor! I gotta pick that up, too.”

  “That’s right. Anyway, don’t be so hard on yourself.” She smiled and winked at him, then she was gone. Looking up, Ward realized why; he’d reached the marshal’s office—a slender two-story building across the street from an imposing gray edifice with a heavy metal front door. Ward paused to look at it, staring up the stony fa?ade to the narrow windows—maybe six inches wide. If they represented jail cells, he figured there were fifty or more, depending on how far back the building went.

  He turned to the much smaller marshal’s office and climbed the wooden stoop. The door was locked, but a wooden sign read, “Please knock. The marshal is in.” Ward obliged, tapping the brass knocker twice. He heard a chair scrape over a wooden floor, then heavy footsteps as someone approached the door. When it swung open, a very large woman stood before him. She was tall and stocky, wearing clothes that reminded Ward of a sheriff in a western movie, complete with a pistol and bullets on her belt.

  “Can I help you, sorcerer?” Her voice was gruff, with an accent that reminded Ward of England. Before he could answer, she stepped back and waved for him to come in.

  “Thanks.” Ward stepped into the office—spartanly furnished with a wooden desk, a bookshelf, and a stack of wooden file boxes—and nodded, resting his hand on his belt, careful not to touch his sword pommel. “I think you can help me, yeah.”

  “Sit down, then.” She pointed to a wooden chair in front of her desk, walked around, and followed her own advice. When they were both seated, she reached into a drawer and took out a pipe, striking a match to light it up while she stared at Ward, her big brown eyes placid and patient.

  “I’m Ward.”

  She puffed her pipe, sucking the flames from her match into the bowl, then she puffed out a cloud of smoke that smelled very much like tobacco. “Nice to meet you, Ward. I’m Marshal Gail True.”

  Ward arched an eyebrow. “True? Must have been your fate to uphold the law, huh?”

  “Not sure. Is it your fate to protect something?”

  Ward frowned, thinking it over. “I guess, maybe. When I was little, my dad told me it meant ‘guardian’ or ‘watchman.’ I worked for a long time trying to enforce the law, too—hunting criminals.”

  “Birds of a feather then, ain’t we?” She drew another long toke on her pipe. “If you smoke, feel free. What can I do for you?”

  Ward reached into his jacket pocket, getting the letter he’d made ready for the day’s business. “This is a letter of introduction Marshal Aldiss wrote for me. He thought I ought to apply at the Citadel someday. Would you mind reading it so you can maybe put a little more stock in what I’m about to tell you?”

  Marshal True grunted and took the letter, opened it, and then slowly perused Aldiss’s neat handwriting. After a while, she set it down on her desk and nodded. “All right. That’s quite a glowing account of your talents and trustworthiness. I suppose it looks legitimate, too, though I don’t have the master record to see if this was written in his book. Still, the seal looks real enough. What’s the situation?”

  Ward smiled and leaned back in his chair. “It’s kind of a long story, but here are the highlights: there’s an evil cult infiltrating the nobility of Westview, and they’re about to perform a ritual to release an ancient evil being from an artifact so it can possess an unwitting, if rotten, asshole who’s wanted for murder back in Tarnish. A bunch of them are possessed by demons, and I’ve got a couple of witnesses locked up in a stable a few miles outside of town. I, uh, was hoping you could go and collect them and get their statements while some allies and I disrupt this ritual and try to banish most of the demons.”

  While he spoke, True took her pipe out of her mouth and sat up straighter, her hand shifting toward the butt of her pistol. She didn’t grab it, though; she just clenched and unclenched her fist several times while he spoke. When he finished, she shook her head. “I’ll need more details, but you’re not taking on this cult in my city alone. If what you have to say makes sense, I’ll send a deputy to get your witnesses, but I’ll be the one doling out justice around here.”

  Ward smiled and shook his head. “That’s up to you. I can’t stop you from coming, but it’s going to be ugly. The two men I have locked up are not only witnesses, but they’re murderers to boot, though one of them was possessed when he committed his crimes, so I don’t know how you’re supposed to figure out what kind of punishment he deserves. As for going against the Circle, you should know—”

  “The Circle? As in the Circle of Thorns?” She stuffed her pipe in her mouth and drew in a massive lungful of smoke.

  “Right. It’s not just them, though. As I said, this group has demons possessing people. We think members of another order—the Oathbound—are working with them against their will.”

  True blew out a huge cloud of smoke and shook her head, her curly black ponytail swishing side to side. “Gimme a minute to call in my deputies, then you can tell me the details. How much time until they do this ritual?”

  “Any time now, though the witness I questioned seemed to think it had to occur at midnight. So, if it hasn’t happened yet, it could be tonight.”

  She put her pipe down and smiled, dragging a heavy drawer open. As she lifted out a gleaming brass spider about the size of a tarantula, she spoke in a soft voice that Ward thought was meant for herself. “And this is what you get for whining about being bored.” Then she touched the spider, and a blue gem flared to life on its abdomen. “Fetch Lazlo and Kenneth.” Ward recoiled, sliding his chair back as the spider leaped off the desk and scurried up the wall and out the partially open window.

  “Now, that’s cool,” he grunted, waving some smoke out of his eyes.