The Necromancer's Nephew (22 page)

Garrett's boots skidded on the wet stone of the tunnel floor, and he pinwheeled his arms wildly to regain his balance. He lurched forward, running into the darkness as the Templar stumbled from the doorway, putting a foot into the drain channel with a loud splash and a seething curse.

Garrett ran from the witchlight that followed close on his heels, ducking down a sloped passage, hoping it was the right direction. If he could reach the pit room, he might lose the guardsman a
mong the myriad tunnels that le
d from the chamber.

Garrett slipped and fell, landing hard on the palms of his hands. He shoved himself to his feet, but strong fingers clutched the nape of his robe.

The Templar swung him around and drove the head of his cudgel into Garrett's belly. Garrett's breath exploded from him as he doubled over in pain. His legs went out from under him, and the man let him fall beside the discarded torch then kicked him savagely in the hip.

"You little bugger!" the Templar hissed, "You won't remember your own name when I'm done with you!"

Garrett raised his hands, trying to plead for mercy, but the Templar only raised his cudgel, a strand of drool roping down from his curled lip. Then the man's eyes went wide, focusing on something in the tunnel beyond. The sound of heavy footfalls approached fast from the darkness.

With a ragged howl, Warren exploded from the shadows, hitting the man like wall of gray fur and muscle. The Templar bounced off the tunnel wall back into the full force of Warren's fist. The man's jaw cracked like a dry stick, and he crumpled, a senseless heap.

"What's
your
name, pinky?" Warren roared, looming over the fallen man, "Or can't you remember?"

Garrett groaned as he dragged himself into a sitting position, bracing against the tunnel wall.

Warren spun around. "Garrett! You all right?"

Garrett nodded, wincing. "They tried to arrest me... they said..."

"Forget it," Warren said, lifting Garrett like a sack of bread, "We've gotta get you out of here."

"Caleb... Lampwicke," Garrett gasped as the ghoul slung the boy over his shoulder and picked up the fallen torch.

Warren looked back up the tunnel where the sound of voices grew louder by the m
oment. "Sorry, Gar," he said, "T
here's too many."

Garrett slumped, breathing in the moldy scent of ghoul fur as his best friend carried him away to safety
.

Garrett lifted his robe and tugged down the edge of his trousers to reveal a large purple bruise, in the rough shape of a Templar’s boot heel.

"He got you pretty good," Warren said, coming back through the doorway of the crumbling Marrowvyn hovel. The ghoul was grinning, but his eyes betrayed his concern for his friend
.

"Yeah," Garrett laughed, wincing a little, "but not as good as you got him!"

Warren chuckled, setting down the heavy canvas bundle he was carrying onto a two-legged table with one end propped on a broken headstone. The makeshift sack spilled open, full of small, saucer-shaped pies, still steaming from the oven. Garrett's stomach rumbled at the smell, and then twisted in a knot at the thought of what might be in them.

Warren stuffed one in his mouth and talked while he chewed. "Want somefing ta eat?"

"Uh... no thanks."

"Don't worry," Warren said, fishing out a few pieces of crumbling crust, "I had
'em make some without filling for you."

"Thanks!" Garrett said, taking the crusts from Warren's paw. He hesitated only a moment before tucking in. "Do you think Caleb and Lampwicke are all right?"

"Yeah," Warren said, "t
hey're better off than you'd be if they caught you. You they'd probably drop down a hole somewhere, but zombies and fairies are worth a lot of money."

"You think they'd sell them?" Garrett asked, a cold, sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Probably," Warren said, "but your uncle will sort them out as soon as he gets back. They'd have never tried something like that if he'd been here."

The ghoul picked up one of the algae-lamps and carried the glowing blue jar over to his nest. He kicked around the pile of rags and fur, looking for something. "Found it!" he said, stooping to pull an old leather backpack from beneath his crude mattress.

"What's going on?" Garrett asked.

"Gotta load up all these travel tarts and get going," Warren said, returning the algae lamp to the table. He held the mouth of the bag open with one hand and used his shaggy arm to sweep the pile of food into the bag.

"Where are we going?" Garrett asked.

Warren slung the pack over his shoulder and walked to the little window by the door. He lifted the ragged leather blind and looked out at the fires of Marrowvyn. "The others want to clear out for a while, in case the priestesses wanna move against us too. They're headed south."

"Is it true," Garrett asked, his voice shaking, "what they said about the army?"

"I don't know," Warren said, "People are saying that something really bad happened up north. I think the priestesses think something did."

"So everybody is just going to run away?" Garrett asked.

"Not me," Warren said, looking back at him. The firelight through the window gleamed on Warren's bared fangs. "I'm gonna find my dad!"

"We have to find a way out of the city and head north," Garrett said. He brushed the crumbs from his robe and picked up his knife belt and satchel.

"It isn't going to be easy," Warren sighed, "We're gonna have to go out through the spillway and slog through the mire in the dark. We won't be able to use the roads with the greens watchin'."

Garrett frowned, thinking in silence for a moment before he spoke again. "There might be another way... but I don't think you're gonna like it."

****

"I don't see anyone," Warren said. The heavy bronze grate scraped loudly against the paving stones as the ghoul shoved it aside. He leapt out of the drain and pulled Garrett up after him into the dark, rain-slick street above.

Above the steady patter of raindrops came the faraway shriek of a Watcher, and Garrett started at the sound.

"Don't worry," Warren
said, "T
hey don't come inside the Foreign District."

"Where are we?" Garrett asked, looking around. He didn't recognize the tall,
whitewashed
buildings on either side of the street. Strange minarets and gilded domes rose above the relatively plain thirty-foot high walls, and flickering, steaming torches lined the ornately crenelated parapets.

"The satyrs live here," Warren said, "at least the rich ones do. I come here sometimes with my dad."

"You have satyr friends?" Garrett asked
.

"It's more for business," Warren said, "Satyrs are pretty dangerous to deal with. They get involved in some shady stuff, and... well, there aren't many other places where a ghoul can actually get paid for the services we provide."

"You mean they..." Garrett's voice trailed off.

"Just say that, if you ever owe a satyr money, you should probably pay him back as quick as you can."

"Oh," Garrett said. His eyes went to the torches above. From within the walls came the muffled sound of a low, mournful chant and the steady beat of drums and bells.

"This way," Warren said, loping over to peek around the corner of the wall.

Garrett followed and peered around the corner to see the familiar black monolith of the vampire compound standing only a block away.

"Looks clear," Warren said, "but let's stick to the wall... just in case."

Garrett flattened himself to the wall and kept close behind the shaggy ghoul as they sprinted from shadow to shadow. Warren indicated the door of the compound with a thrust of his chin, and Garrett ran the last gap alone.

He dove into the shadowy alcove and reached for the bell-pull, but his hand froze as the door swung open before him.

Marla stood there, framed against the blackness within. She blinked in astonishment and then sprung forward to wrap him in a crushing hug.

"Oh, Garrett!" she cried, "I was so worried."

She released him and stepped back. She was dressed entirely in black leather traveling gear with a slim rucksack strapped over her shoulder. Her hair was tied back in a topknot, and she wore two slender, curved knives on her hips.

"Wow!" Garrett gasped, "Where are you going?"

"To find you, silly!" she laughed, wiping her eyes, "I heard..." She sniffed loudly and hugged him again.

"Thanks," Garrett said, "I mean for worrying about me."

"I'm just glad you're all right," she said, stepping back with her hands on his shoulders.

"Warren's here too," he said, "We've gotta get out of the city."

"Where are you going to go?" Marla asked.

"We have to find the other necromancers and Warren's dad. I was hoping that your flying friends might help us get out tonight," Garrett said, smiling hopefully.

Marla shook her head. "They've all gone away north," she said. Her lips pursed in thought, and then broadened to a sly smile. "Come inside... both of you! I've got an idea."

****

Marla stuffed Garrett's satchel with food and a pair of thin, gray blankets before slinging a couple of water skins over his other shoulder to counterbalance the load.

"Lovecraft prefers his meals twice a day, at dusk and dawn," Marla said, looking at Klavicus. "You'll need to feed the pets at the shop every other day, at least the ones that eat food. You've done it before for mother, haven't you?"

Klavicus nodded and wrung his thin hands together. His lips pulled back over his long yellow teeth as his eyes moved from Marla to Garrett to Warren and then to the three snarling black dire wolves she had pulled from the kennel
.

"I don't think your
mother would approve at all, m’l
ady," the gangly vampire said.

"I suspect you are right," Marla admitted, "I will probably be reprimanded when she returns."

"A reason
,
perhaps
,
not to go," he said, making a nervous clicking noise in his throat, as his gaze fell upon Garrett once more.

Garrett felt a chill go through him, but forced a cheerful smile.

"No," Marla sighed, "I need to do this. Mother will understand, and I hope that you do as well."

"I must confess, I do not," Klavicus said.

"I am depending on you to look after things while I am away," Marla said, "Whatever Mother thinks of my actions, she will undoubtedly appreciate your handling of her affairs in her absence."

Klavicus blinked and
nodded, "I will do my duty, m’l
ady!"

"I know you will, Klavicus," she said, "Your honor is never questioned."

A wolf snapped at Warren's elbow, and the ghoul jumped away with a startled yelp. Marla spun and issued a command in draconic, cowing the three horse-sized lupines into submission.

"I don't think I can do this," Warren said.

Garrett had just been thinking the same thing.

"They just need to get accustomed to your smell," Marla assured him, "Until then, they will, at least, obey my command not to eat you."

Warren's laughter died away when he saw she wasn't smiling.

"You don't have maybe a pony or something?" Garrett asked.

Marla frowned at him. "In two days time, you and Ghausse will be the best of friends."

Garrett looked at the monstrous wolf who, in turn, regarded him the way it might regard a plump rabbit. When it growled, Garrett felt the rumble all the way down to his bowels.

“So, I just jump on his back and hold on?” Warren asked, cocking his head to the side as he studied his dire wolf.

“Yes,” Marla said, “e
xcept I wouldn’t jump on Hauskr. You should clasp his mane tightly and climb onto his back. Lean forward with your legs astride, and hold onto his fur.”

Klavicus looked on with a sickly, yellow smile as Marla tutored her friends on the proper handling of a dire wolf. Within a half hour, she had managed to get both of them atop their mounts and pointed toward the stone ramp leading up from the stables. Marla mounted the she-wolf Reigha, and led Ghausse and Hauskr forward with packs of traveling gear slung around their necks and Garrett and Warren clinging to their backs.

“Good hunting, m
’
lady,” Klavicus cried as the great wolves carried them away.

The three of them emerged into the gentle pre-dawn rain, riding their wolves through the side gate of the vampire compound
.

“Won’t the Night Watch get us if we try to leave the city?” Garrett whispered.

“You don’t have to whisper,” Marla said, “There’s no one else around, and, anyway, not all the gates are guarded by the Watchers. Foreign ambassadors can use an entrance called the Duskgate. Only a small contingent of Templars guard it, and they will not ask questions if we wish to leave.”