The Necromancer's Nephew (14 page)

"I don't know," Marla said, "I dream of it from time to time, but, when I wake up, I can't remember very much about it."

Garrett noticed that all of the paintings save one were rendered in a very loose, airy hand with the exception of a single small, square canvas set into a gilded wooden frame. This was the collection's only portrait, and it had been painted by a master. The two people in the painting looked as though they might draw breath and speak at any moment. Their eyes shone, full of love, almost looking at one another, their faces yearning to smile through the forced formality of the pose
.

One of them was obviously Marla's mother. Garrett would have said that she looked younger in the painting, though she obviously hadn't aged. It was something about her eyes. The man's eyes glinted like honed steel, set in a scarred, leathery face. He had curly, iron-gray hair, and a black silk doublet stretched across his broad shoulders. A single scarlet rune lay embroidered above his heart.

"My father," Marla said.

"What does the rune mean?" Garrett asked.

Marla glanced toward the door and lowered her voice. "It means drinker of sorrow."

"Meow?" Marla's cat stretched its back and dug its claws into the frayed old quilt.

"Did you finally feel like waking up?" Marla asked.

The little black cat jumped down and crossed the floor to rub against Garrett's legs.

"He likes you," Marla said, "Garrett, this is Lovecraft."

"Hello," Garrett said, stooping to stroke the cat with his gloved hand.

Lovecraft answered with a low, rumbling purr, rubbing his ear against the toe of Garrett's boot. Garrett reached to scratch at his ear, and the cat suddenly turned and bit his finger.

"Aah!" Garrett yanked his hand back as Lovecraft bounded away. The cat crouched beneath the corner of the bed quilt and watched him with large yellow eyes, tail swishing.

Marla giggled. "He likes to play," she said.

"Is that what he calls it?" Garrett said, rubbing his finger with his thumb.

"What do you think?" Marla asked.

"About what?"

"My room, do you like it?" Marla lifted her hands from her sides.

"Yeah," Garrett said, "it's great!"

"How's your fairy?" she asked.

"Oh, good... I think," he said, "She sings really beautiful songs, but I don't know what language she's singing in."

"The fairies speak Fae," she said, "I know a little, but not much."

"I still wish there was something I could do for her, if she won't eat food."

Marla looked thoughtful for a moment
. "I have an idea," she said, "F
ollow me."

Garrett followed her back out of her bedroom. He cast one last reproachful glance at the cat, still glaring at him from the corner of the bed.

Marla went to one of the bookcases in the parlor and searched the shelves for a minute. At last she pulled a heavy tome from an upper shelf and handed it to Garrett. "Try this," she said.

Garrett cracked open the large leather-bound book to find hundreds of lushly illustrated pages filled with florid text, written in an unfamiliar language.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Fairy stories," she said, "The language is Fae, but it has been transc
ribed phonetically into Gloaran
runes."

"What do I do with this?"

"Read it to her," Marla said.

"But I don't know how to pronounce this stuff," he said.

Marla shrugged. "It's better to be entertained with a bad accent than not entertained at all."

"I guess so," he said, tucking the book under one arm, "Thanks for loaning it to me."

"It's yours," she said, "I gave up trying to learn Fae a long time ago."

"You gave up on learning something?" Garrett laughed.

Marla frowned. "I read a lot," she said, "but I only spend time on the things that really interest me."

"Well, thanks for the book. I appreciate your help."

Marla leaned forward and gave him a quick hug. "Thanks for being my friend," she said, "Until I met you, I hardly knew anyone who was less than a hundred years old."

"Really?" Garrett asked, "How old is your mom?"

"Three-hundred eighty-six," she said.

"How old are you?"

Marla frowned at him. "I'm fifteen, Garrett," she said.

"Oh, sorry... yeah."

She smiled again. "It's all right. I guess the whole vampire thing is still a little strange to you."

"Yeah... not bad strange, just, I'm trying to learn everything I can," he said.

"Thanks."

"For what?"

"For caring enough to learn about us," she said.

Garrett smiled.

The apartment door opened, and Mrs. Veranu entered, carrying a covered platter and a silver pitcher. "Lunchtime," she said.

She closed the door with her foot and set the platter down on a small table. "Marla, have you been telling people my age again?"

"Sorry," Marla said.

"I have excellent hearing," Mrs. Veranu whispered loudly, grinning at Garrett. She carried the silver pitcher through a side door into another room and returned a few moments later, holding a silver goblet in each hand.

Marla found another chair to add to the two already beside the table, and bade Garrett join them. He sat down, finding the platter set before him. Mrs. Veranu pulled away the red cloth covering it to reveal a small pile of fruit and berries, along with a single lump of brown oat bread.

“Thank you,” Garrett said. He pulled off a handful of grapes and berries and then passed the plate to Marla.

“Those are for you, Garrett,” Marla said with a smile, “Mother and I don’t eat that kind of food.” Her eyes went to the silver cup on the table in front of her.

Mrs. Veranu drank deeply from her own goblet, leaving her lips red for an instant before she cleaned them with a flick of her tongue. “I brought that plate up for you from the pens. We keep a wide variety of animals down there, and they are quite well-fed.”

“Thanks,” Garrett said, pulling the platter back. He laughed then, looking at it. “What sort of animal eats bread?”

Marla glanced away as she raised her cup to her lips, and Mrs. Veranu only chuckled.

Garrett did not pursue the issue. The bread proved very tasty, if a little dry.

“So, how are your studies coming along in the black art of necromancy?” Mrs. Veranu asked with mock gravity.

“Oh,” Garrett said, “I raised a zombie! I named him Caleb. I brought him along today to show you, but the doorman made him wait outside.”

Mrs. Veranu smiled. “Klavicus takes his guard duties very seriously,” she said, “Well, you can bring your new zombie by the shop sometime. We’ll be open again tomorrow.”

“All right,” Garrett said, “I was going to stop by there this morning, but Uncle said you weren’t there. Is today some sort of holiday?”

Mrs. Veranu gave a muffled snort. “Not exactly,” she said, “We have guests from Thrinaar who feel the need to call emergency councils all the time.”

“Is everything all right?” Garrett asked.

“Of course,” Mrs. Veranu laughed, “It’s just that, in Thrinaar, everything is an emergency. They are kind enough to bring all the spare emergencies with them when they go visiting their outcast cousins.”

“Oh,”

“Speaking of which,” Mrs. Veranu continued, “I have another emergency meeting in a few minutes, and I’ll need to speak with you when it’s over Marla. Do you think you can see Garrett off and meet me in the library in about an hour?”

Marla nodded, a worried look on her face.

“Nothing terrible,” her mother said, “I just asked the Moonwings about those riding lessons, and Krauss promised me an answer today.”

Marla’s expression brightened considerably. She looked at Garrett with a manic smile and then back at her mother. “Do you think they will let me?” she asked.

Mrs. Veranu grinned. “Don’t get too excited!” she said, “We don’t have an answer yet, but Krauss is an old friend, and, if he says no, it will only be out of concern for your safety.”

“I’ll be very careful!” Marla said.

“I know that. You just have to make sure he knows that.” Mrs. Veranu drained her cup and thumped the base of the empty goblet against the tablecloth. “Well… time for me to go. See you tomorrow, Garrett.”

Garrett started to say goodbye, but the apartment door was already closing behind her.

Marla finished her drink as well and then rose from her seat to gather up the two red-stained cups.

“Would you like to see the gaunt pens, Garrett?”

“Sure!”

****

The stables beneath the vampire embassy stank of dried dung and the stale breath of nearly fifty monstrous beasts. Black wolves the size of oxen snapped and snarled at Garrett as Marla led him past their cages. A smaller hutch contained a trio of tiny foxes with blood-red fur and luminous green eyes. They flattened their oversized ears and hissed at the young necromancer.

"Messenger foxes," Marla said, leading him farther back into the windowless stone-walled stables.

Garrett recognized the creatures inside the cages at the back immediately as much larger versions of the baby creature he had seen in the back room of the pet shop.

"Gaunts," he said.

Marla smiled and nodded as she reached through the inch-thick bars to stroke one of the midnight-skinned creatures that hung bat-like from an iron hook in the ceiling. It turned its eyeless face toward her slightly and made a deep thrumming sound in its throat.

The gaunt held its leathery wings wrapped tightly around its body, but Garrett could tell that this, the smallest of the score of beasts hanging in the cage, was at least twice the size of a man.

"You want to ride one of these?" Garrett asked.

"Yes," Marla said, her eyes still on the gaunt, "I'd love to."

Garrett lifted his hand and moved to reach through the bars.

The gaunt suddenly let out a dreadful "Kack! Kack! Kack!" and its short, bristly mane stood on end as it bared its long white teeth at him. The other gaunts rustled their wings and murmured restlessly.

Garrett jumped away from the cage, his heart hammering in his chest. "What'd I do?" he gasped.

Marla whispered soothing words in draconic, stroking the beast until it settled back into a restful state. She stepped slowly away from the cage and whispered, "I think it's the way you smell."

Garrett's cheeks burned. "Wha... what do you mean?" he asked, "I don't smell bad, do I?"

Marla shook her head. "Oh no! It’s nothing like that... you just smell like the undead, and living animals usually react badly to the smell."

"Oh..." Garrett said, "I guess that makes sense. Why don't they react that way to you then?"

"What do you mean?"

"I thought vampires were... you know, undead too."

Marla's eyes went hard. "You think I'm like a zombie or something?" she asked.

"No!" he said, raising his hands, "I just mean... well, you don't ever die, do you?"

"Oh," she sa
id, her expression softening, "N
o, we don't age the same way humans do. I will grow up like a human girl, but, once I'm grown, I won't really get visibly older. We do change a little over time after that, but we don't die of old age. We're still living creatures though."

"I'm sorry," Garrett said, "I didn't know how it worked."

"That's all right," she said, "W
e don't go around explaining it to everyone we meet."

Garrett laughed. "So, how will you change?"

"What do you mean?"

"You said that you would change a little over time... after you grow up."

Marla's cheeks went red, and she looked away. "Well, for one thing," she said, "my teeth will get longer."

"Oh," Garrett said, "I don't mind."

"I'm so glad," she said coolly.

"I just mean I like you no matter what," Garrett said, "even if you wind up looking like that guy at the door."

Marla's eyes went wide, but then she laughed. "I'm never going to look like that!" she said.

"Good," Garrett said with a relieved sigh.

Marla stepped forward and took his hand. She held him by the wrist and gently tugged the glove from his fingers. He started to resist, but then allowed her to pull the glove off
.

She cradled his naked hand in her palm and stroked the pale burn scars with her cool fingertips. She then clasped his fingers between her hands and smiled at him
.

"I like you too, Garrett... no matter what."

“
Roo-ah deo ree thu… thooloo
.”

Lampwicke pressed her tiny hands over her mouth in a vain attempt to stifle her laughter. The giggling fairy rocked back and forth on the little pillow that Garrett had found to serve as her new bed.

Garrett wrinkled his nose and tried again to read aloud from the storybook. “
Thru-leah dulu wik wik… foalaa
.”

“
Fu’La!
” Lampwicke shouted, “
Fu’la!
”

“
Fu’La
,” Garrett repeated
.

She seemed pleased by his pronunciation of the phrase, though he still had no idea what he was saying.

Garrett sighed and turned the book so that the fairy could look at the illustrations through the bars of her cage. Her eyes went wide with pleasure as she pointed at a section of the text and cried, “What what?”

Garrett shifted in his chair. He kept Lampwicke’s cage on the desk now, atop a pile of books so that she could look out the window during the day. He propped the storybook open beside the cage and squinted at the text.

“
Raambolu na… Gooloogoo
… that can’t be right, can it?” he said.

“
Gaologhu
,” Lampwicke corrected him.

“Yeah, that.”

A knock sounded at his door. “Garrett?” Uncle’s voice called from the hallway.

“Come in,” Garrett said.

Uncle opened the door and stepped inside. He crossed the floor to stand beside the desk, smiling at Garrett’s attempt to read the storybook to the fairy. He reached over to turn the book’s cover so that he could read the title.

“
Songs of the Hidden Grove
,” Uncle said.

“You speak fairy?” Garrett asked.

“No, but I do speak a little Fae, which is what scholars call the language of fairies and their kin.”

“I meant that…” Garrett said.

“A gift from Marla?” Uncle asked.

“Yeah, but I don’t have any idea what I’m reading, and I can’t pronounce the words very well,” Garrett said.

“Hmn, let me see.” Uncle picked up the storybook and perused the section that Garrett had been trying to read to Lampwicke. He flipped back a few pages to the start of the story.

Garrett and Lampwicke looked at each other. Her tiny blue eyes blinked and then looked back to Uncle Tinjin.

Tinjin read silently for a few moments, flipping through the book as he did, and a little smile grew at the edge of his mouth. “It is the story of a rather… romantic young satyr and his attempts to woo a unicorn who has attracted his attention.”

“Huh,” Garrett said, “is it funny?”

“I imagine that it would be quite hilarious to hear it read by someone who doesn’t speak your language.”

“Oh,” Garrett said.

“We shall have to remedy that,” Uncle said as he sat the book back on the desk, “Since you have taken it upon yourself to learn a new language, the least I can do is find you a bi-lingual dictionary. I will seek a suitable one at my next opportunity.”

"Thanks," Garrett said, afraid that he had just inadvertently volunteered for an enormous task.

"In any case... what's this?" Uncle said, picking up an object that had been half-buried under a stack of papers on the desk.

"Oh, that's the dragon tooth that Warren gave me for my birthday."

"Hmn," Uncle said, studying it, "More like a claw... lesser drake. Where did he find it?"

"Catacombs, he said. Some dragon slayer’s tomb."

"A very nice gift," Uncle Tinjin mused, "It's worth a good deal of money in certain circles."

"Oh, did you want it?" Garrett asked, "I don't really like looking at it."

Uncle remained silent a moment and then placed the claw back atop the papers on Garrett's desk. He put his hand on Garrett's shoulder and squeezed gently.

"You can't run away from the past, Garrett," he said, "Sometimes you need little pieces of the past around to remind you that you survived."

"Maybe," Garrett said, "but I'd be perfectly happy to never see another dragon again."

"I wish I could make that so," Uncle said, "but we don't get to choose what trials we will face. We can only choose how we will face them."

"I know," Garrett said.

"You can take comfort in the fact that most people never even meet a single dragon in the course of their lives. The odds against living to meet a second one are absurdly high."

Garrett shared a laugh with his uncle, and even Lampwicke buzzed her wings and chattered happily in Fae.

"Oh, I came to tell you that Warren and his father are stopping by in a few minutes."

"Oh," Garrett said. He still had no idea of what he would say to Warren when he saw him again.

"I'll give you some time to work things out with your friend when he arrives. I would suggest leading with a sincere apology."

"Yes, sir," Garrett said.

****

"Bargas! Good to see you again," Uncle Tinjin greeted Warren's father as he stepped through the basement door.

"Tinjin!" the patchy-furred ghoul said, embracing his old friend in his massive arms.

Warren followed close behind his father, carrying a large stained sack over his back, with a foul look on his face. His eyes fell when he saw Garrett standing at Tinjin's side.

"Garrett," Uncle said, "help Warren take that bag to the lab while I speak with his father."

"Yes, sir," Garrett said. He stepped forward, offering to take the heavy sack from Warren's shoulder, but the ghoul only snorted and pushed his way past on the way to the laboratory.

Once the grownups were out of earshot, Garrett said, "Look, Warren, I'm sorry I hit you, but you were being a real pain."

"Pshh! Did you hit me? I didn't notice!" Warren growled, dropping the bag onto a worktable with a meaty thump.

"What's your problem anyway?" Garrett asked, "You were being really rude to Marla."

"I was being rude? What about you? I thought we were gonna have fun looking around the Old City?"

"That's what we did," Garrett said.

"No, what we did was do whatever your little girlfriend wanted to do. That's what we did!"

“I thought you liked her?” Garrett asked.

“She’s all right,” Warren admitted, “but you don’t want to do the stuff I want to do when she’s around.”

“Oh… well, how about you get to pick what we do next time?” Garrett asked.

Warren looked like he was struggling to find something nasty to say about the suggestion. “Does she have to come?” he asked.

Garrett thought about it for a moment. “Well, I like her, and I want to invite her to go with us.”

Warren rumbled thoughtfully. “Fine, but I get to choose where we go… and it will probably be somewhere really nasty.”

“Good.” Garrett said.

“Good.” Warren said.

Silence hung between them for a long moment before anyone spoke again.

“Anyway, I’m sorry I hit you in the nose,” Garrett said.

“Yeah,” Warren said, “I’m sorry I messed up your smooch.”

“I got really close, didn’t I?” Garrett laughed.

“Yeah, you were practically begging her to suck all your blood out!”

“Hey! That’s not how they do it!” Garrett said.

“How do you know?” Warren asked.

“They use cups,” Garrett said.

“Really? And what happens if they don’t have a cup handy?”

“I don’t know,” Garrett admitted.

“Blood smooch.”

They laughed together as they headed up to join Uncle and Bargas in the parlor.

“… appreciate it if you could look in on the boy from time to time while I’m gone,” Warren’s father was saying when the boys entered the parlor.

“What?” Warren said, “I’m going with you!”

The elder ghoul’s lips curled back into a pained expression. “Sorry, boy, not this time.”

“Why?” Warren whined, “I’ve been in battles before.”

Bargas shook his head. “You’ve been
near
battles before. You’ve never been in one.”

“So? I have to do some fighting sooner or later.” Warren flexed his great paws into fists.

Bargas’s eyes flared. “I’m not gonna roll the bones with my only son in the pie tin! I don’t trust ‘em! I don’t know what they’re up to, but I don’t trust ‘em.”

“You think the priestesses are just gonna throw us at the Chadiri to kill us off?” Warren asked.

“I don’t know,” Bargas said, pacing back and forth on the parlor rug.

“Yeah, but we’re too smart, right?” Warren asked, “If things look bad, we’d just disappear into the swamp.”

“You’d have to be sure that no one saw you,” Bargas said, “If the worm-women saw you run, they’d burn out Marrowvyn first chance they got, just to punish us.”

“I’d like to see ‘em try!” Warren growled.

“No, you don't, boy!” Bargas shouted. He shook his head and his voice softened, “You don’t ever wanna see that.”

Warren held his tongue and looked at the floor.

“I’ll look after him, Bargas,” Uncle Tinjin said, “I’ll need his help more than ever with you gone.”

“Thanks,” Bargas sighed, “I hate to leave him with you in this state, but he’ll do his job, once he stops feelin’ sorry for himself.”

Warren grumbled quietly, and his father walked over to clap him on the back.

“Don’t worry, boy,” Bargas said, “Sooner or later the reds’ll come knockin’ at our front door. Now that’s a fight you’re gonna want to see!”

“Malleatus and Mauravant meeting again?” Uncle chuckled, “That didn’t go so well for Mauravant the last time.”

“Heh, Mal’ didn’t have such a good day either!” Bargas laughed.

“What do you mean?” Garrett asked.

Uncle looked at him and smiled. “The short version of the story is that, one day, Malleatus, the god of blood decided to rid the world of Mauravant, the goddess of death. They, and their armies met on a field, probably somewhere in Gloar, and proceeded to butcher one another with great enthusiasm.

“Eventually, they had worked their way through most of their followers, and the two elder gods met face to face, or face to tentacle… Some of the early depictions of the death goddess are a bit… impressionistic. In any case, they met and fought. Some texts claim the battle went on for days, but, however long it took, eventually Malleatus was able to tear the living heart, or some similarly useful organ, from the body of Mauravant, and she died… as much as an elder goddess can ever truly die.

“The blood god, however, was having trouble holding in what little blood he had left, so he didn’t have much time to celebrate his victory. He shouted some suitably prophetic things to his surviving priests and then fled into the northern mountains, never to be seen again. Thus the age of the war gods ended, and humans were left to continue their noble work.”

"So, Malleatus is dead too then?" Garrett asked.

"Like I said, creatures like that don't ever really die, but their bodies are made of flesh, and flesh can be destroyed, even if the spirit lingers on, in some form or another."

"Good thing they hated each other more then they hated us," Bargus said.

"Hmn," Uncle said, "I think creatures like that need us. They need someone to tell them they are gods. Perhaps the two of them were like jealous suitors, fighting for the love of mankind."

Bargus laughed. "Well, we better be goin'. We got a lot of travel tarts to bake for the trip."

"Wait a moment, I haven't paid you yet," Uncle said.

"No need, Tinjin," Bargas said, "We can settle up when I get back."

"No, I have a special ingredient for your pies," Uncle said. He walked to a nearby cabinet and opened it. From it he pulled a large earthenware crock with a heavy lid. He handed it to Bargas with a slight bow of his head. "For services rendered."

Bargas took the crock and lifted the lid. He gave the heavy pot a little slosh and grinned. He sniffed and shifted the crock under one of his shaggy arms, dipping a long-nailed finger into the opening. He drew back the finger, dripping with honey and licked it.

The ghoul's eyes fluttered with delight and he let out a long sigh. "Lethian wanderer, pickled in honey. Tinjin, this is too much!"

"You've earned it old friend," Uncle said.

"Thanks!" Bargas said, and then turned to Warren, Well, son, this should sweeten your disposition a bit."

Garrett looked at his friend. Warren was leaning forward slightly and salivating, his nostrils flared as he breathed in the scent of the strange treat that Uncle had given them
.

"Good luck with whatever you're doin' with those arms," Bargas said, "Warren will be back by in the next couple of days. He's yours until I get back, so be sure to work him hard."

"I will," Uncle said.