Deadhouse Landing

The tall reeds and cattails shook as a mud-caked shape pulled itself out of the silts and up the side of a sandbar. The man had one hand pressed to his neck where the mud glistened a deep red. His chest was shaking as if spasming and finally, reluctantly, a gurgling laugh burst forth from his smeared lips as he chuckled uncontrollably. Crimson bubbles foamed at the fingers pressed to his neck. Yet he laughed on, wheezing.

After a time, he gestured with his other hand in a sweeping motion and darkness swirled up about him. When it dispersed he was gone, and the spiralling seabirds descended to roost among the reeds once again.

Chapter 19

The next thing Tayschrenn was aware of he was outside in sunlight leaning up against the gritty stone wall of the house while the short mock-elderly Kellanved had a hand on his shoulder and was peering up at him, looking quite concerned.

‘You are all right?’ he asked, frowning.

He blinked, thinking rather panickily, Am I? Am I all right? ‘What … what happened?’

‘You passed out immediately,’ the wizened fellow said. ‘Exhaustion, mental and physical, obviously.’

He straightened to eye the mage of Meanas just as narrowly. ‘Obviously,’ he echoed drily.

The Dal Hon mage brushed his hands together. ‘Good. Well, that’s that. They saw you enter the Azath House and so they think you entombed for ever. And so they have abandoned the chase, hmm? Just don’t raise your Warren any time soon, yes?’

‘Of course.’

The mage took a deep breath and his walking stick appeared in his hand. ‘Well, then. Let us see how things have shaken out, yes?’ and he started down the path.

Ahead, two figures roused themselves to stand barring the way: one short and wiry, the other massive and holding a tall halberd across the gate.

Leading the way, Kellanved paused. ‘What is this?’

The short wiry one pointed a recriminating finger. ‘You are abusing your position,’ he accused. ‘How much more of this coming and going must we endure?’

The mage of Meanas tapped his walking stick to his mouth, striking an exaggerated thinking pose. ‘Well … that depends entirely upon you, don’t you think?’

The short elderly fellow flinched as if struck; clearly he was not used to being spoken to in this manner. ‘Why, you little rat,’ he spluttered. ‘If you think we will tolerate these insults—’

Kellanved pushed ahead between the pair. ‘You’ll just have to, won’t you? The House chooses, not you. So you’ll just have to make the best of it.’ He urged Tayschrenn onward. ‘Come, come.’

Tayschrenn slid forward, uneasily, between the scowling short fellow and the big one whose hands gripped and regripped the long haft of his halberd.

They left them behind, staring after them, glowering pure anger.

‘Who are they?’ Tayschrenn asked.

Kellanved gave a dismissive wave of a hand. ‘Oh, guardians set by Burn to watch over the House. Penance, no doubt, for some ancient crime. Or,’ and he set the silver hound’s head of the walking stick to his mouth, ‘devotional acts, perhaps.’

Tayschrenn arched a brow as he regarded the diminutive mage scuttling along next to him. Clearly, this one had spent a great deal of time poking about into the hidden workings of the powers active in the world. Something he had sorely neglected.

The mage used his walking stick to push open the door to a bar whose hanging tile announced its name to be Smiley’s.

Everyone within swore and jumped to their feet as they entered.

Kellanved bobbed his head. ‘Nice to be appreciated. How long has it been?’

A lean Napan woman at the bar answered, ‘Three days.’

‘Dancer?’ he asked.

‘Recuperating.’

‘Very good.’ He motioned Tayschrenn forward. ‘This way.’ He paused. ‘Ah! Surly, Tayschrenn.’ He pointed about the broad room, picking people out. ‘Urko, Choss, Tocaras, and, ah, others.’

Tayschrenn nodded a greeting, then Kellanved urged him up a stairway. ‘My office,’ he explained. Within, he gestured to a side table. ‘Drink?’

Tayschrenn found a decanter of white wine and poured himself a touch. He crossed to the one window and peered out at grey slate roofs, a cloudy sky, and the iron-grey waters of the bay beyond. He sighed his … discouragement. ‘So – I’m working for a petty criminal.’

Kellanved had eased himself down in a chair behind the expanse of a broad empty desk. His chin barely cleared it and he frowned, studying the bulky piece as if it had unaccountably risen. He raised a finger. ‘Soon to be far less petty.’

A knock, and the door opened to reveal a tall lean fellow who moved stiffly as if feeling recent wounds. Kellanved stood. ‘Ah, Dancer. This is Tayschrenn.’ Dancer nodded and Tayschrenn studied him in turn. Deadly, he decided.

Another knock and in came a broad-shouldered curly-haired man who nodded to Dancer and Kellanved in turn. Kellanved made the introductions.

‘So they were chasing you,’ Dancer said. Tayschrenn inclined his head.

A third knock heralded the Napan woman, Surly. She studied everyone, then shut the door behind her. ‘Thank you for helping,’ she said.