A Prayer of Freaks and Sinners Page 5

  One thing the old builders did well a thousand years ago was plumbing. Crowburgh had a complex sewer system that few modern masons could match. The tunnels and catacombs of the old city ran for miles, puncturing through sunken old parts of the town, sealed off streets and forgotten cemeteries. A city beneath a city, where a population of rodents build their society. No one could sniff their way around that subterranean world like Middigan. He had mapped it in his mind over decades.

  Up ahead he saw his little hut. Above a crooked shambles of butcher shops, where carcasses and slops thrown out back for rats and flies. The fresh meat hung to cure on rusted hooks at front shop. Piled atop that a dilapidated warren of living quarters cresting with chimneys. People leaned out their windows smoking or gossiping with neighbors. And above that an unstable looking tower that veered at an angle. A lantern swung from it and a flag fluttered showing a black rat.

  Home. All Middigan wanted was to take off his boots and lie down on his straw mattress and sleep for a week. His old bones starting to ache when winter approached.

  Trippin scuttled about at his feet, glancing up at the cage with its juicy prisoner squealing within.

  Just about to ascend the long winding staircase to his hut, mouthwatering at the thought of a cup of gin, when a blond boy ran up to him holding out a letter.

  "Mister Smythe! Mister Smythe! Been looking for you everywhere."

  Middigan looked down his swollen nose at the boy.

  "You didn't think to try where I lived?"

  The boy stood panting and held out the paper. "I heard you was on a job sir, been trekking the streets for you."

  Middigan shrugged.

  "You'll have to read it to me boy, my letters ain't as good as they should be. Looks like a mayor's seal on that, or am I mistaken?"

  The boy looked afraid. Middigan knew he could look unapproachable in his layers of stained clothing and matted hair. But he never thought himself frightening.

  "It is from the mayor sir. It's a summons. Your expertise is required straight away at the utmost urgency."

  Middigan scuttled his unkempt brows.

  "Urgency, lad? At the mayor's house? I hunted his home clean not last week."

  The boy shook his head.

  "No Mr. Smythe. At the front gate. There's a girl at the front gate of the city."

  Middigan was befuddled. Trippin was yapping at his feet so he reached down and gave the dog a quick tickle.

  "I only do rats, son. I don't think anyone would take too kindly to me bashing in the head of a girl with my stick."

  The boy grabbed Middigan's filthy sleeve and pulled.

  "She's got rats with her. Lots of them. Best you see for yourself sir. Come.”

  Middigan's curiosity piqued now. He followed the lad through the winding cobbled alleyways of Crowburgh, Trippin running at his heels. He almost lost the boy a couple of times passing through busy market squares, but he came to the northern wall of the city. The main gate closed and portcullis down, which Middigan thought unusual. The boy ushered him to a wooden staircase that led up to the battlements. A city watchman in chainmail coat stepped up and gave him a wave.

  "You the rat-man?"

  Middigan nodded.

  "Aye, most folks know me as that round here, but I don't see-"

  The watchman took him by the arm and half dragged him up the steps.

  "The mayor's up top. Asked for you. Says you keep his residence clear. Got your work cut out now, old man."

  Middigan wanted to protest but he had time to think.

  Several more watchmen stationed on the walkway above the main gate to Crowburgh. They shuffled and looked out over the wall. Nestled amongst them a tall man with a pot belly and fur trimmed cloak. His grey hair shot out from his temples like seagull wings. When he saw Middigan he strode over on lanky limbs.

  "Middigan. Thank the gods they found you. The strangest morning we are having. It is good to have your fine expertise with us."

  Middigan smiled but unsure what he could bring to this meeting.

  "You’re welcome sir. But I'm not sure what you're expecting of me."

  The mayor, Michael Torse, worked his mouth but no words came. His blue eyes searched Middigan's face for answers but found nothing.

  "It's...someone has arrived...it's the preserve of the gods, Middigan. We didn't invite her here. We want no magic in Crowburgh. Hasn't been for years. I'm sending a messenger to the king. But closed the gates. Can't let her in."

  Middigan shook his head. Trippin whining at his feet.

  "Lord Mayor, if you'll forgive me I'm not an educated man. Why do you need a rat catcher?"

  The mayor led Middigan to the edge of the walkway overlooking the front gates. He pointed down below. Middigan blinked and then squeezed finger and thumb to the bridge of his nose. His eyes strained down to the road outside the city.

  There on a pale horse sat a young girl no more than ten.

  Her hood pulled back and Middigan could see something wrong with her. Her skin a greenish-grey, mottled with spider webs of black veins. Her eyes a sickly shade and an unsettling light emanated from them. Even her horse looked diseased. Patches of infection dappled its flanks and a black drool hung from its lips.

  Next to the girl's horse stood a cloaked and hooded figure. Over nine feet tall with the look of a monk. Middigan could not see the face beneath the hood, but it had several strange pink tendrils trailing from beneath like a strange beard. It looked familiar to him but his mind struggled to take the vision in.

  Middigan glanced at the mayor.

  "I don't see no magic, Lord Mayor, but I know sickness when I see it. That poor child has some kind of plague, one we don't want in the walls. I know how hard it is keeping on top of epidemics, Milord. I feel awful for the child, but once it's inside it's inside. Maybe we could get some broth out to her or something, lower it down?"

  The mayor pulled his fur cloak around him and sniffed up some snot. A fine grey drizzle had started around them. Beyond the girl, the road led up towards dark rolling hills. Storm clouds gathered in the distance.

  "I know what she is. But it can't be. It's been gone for a thousand years."

  Middigan frowned. At his feet, the plucky Trippin hunched and whimpering.

  "I'm not taking your meaning sir."

  The mayor glanced askance at the rat catcher.

  "It's the Sorrow. Come back for us all as it promised."

  Middigan had not read many books but he knew the myths as much as anyone. The ancient invasion that an affront to life itself, warping everything it touched. He looked down at the child and her tall companion. But this one, just a little girl. Sick, no doubt, but no threat as long as she kept isolated from others. The Mayor spoke quiet and rushed to Middigan.

  "She tried to come in with a band of merchants, hooded and quiet. But someone saw her skin and called plague. Before she could get past the guard, everyone scattered from her and the iron brought down. She's just sat there on the horse since, looking up at us. She won't respond."

  Mayor Michael Torse straightened his robes and stood tall. He took a deep breath in and spoke down to the girl on the horse.

  "Child. I am sorry for your predicament, but we cannot let you in to Crowburgh. Has your family perished? Who is your companion? Ask him to remove his cowl and speak with us on your behalf." His eyes flicked to the tall man beside her.

  The little girl shifted in her saddle. She looked up at the mayor with her pale green eyes and the horse whinnied in misery. The mayor called down again.

  "I must preserve the sanctity of the city. But I will have shelter built outside the walls and food brought to you. And such medicine as we have. For you and your...friend."

  The tall cowed companion stood quiet still, his hands crossed and tucked into his wide sleeves like a monk. Yet Middigan saw his entire form writhe beneath the brown robes. The girl cocked her head up at the Mayor and opened her mouth. When she spoke, her voice not that of a child. The harsh voice came
like an echo from the underworld.

  "In the name of my Father, The Green King, one who has slept too long, and now opened his eyes once again on the world, I give you choices."

  Mayor Michael broke out in a sweat. He ran a hand through his wiry grey hair. The watchmen next to him were agitated and gripped their spears tight. The Mayor cleared his throat and called down. Middigan could hear the fear in his voice.

  "And who is your father? We are not here to parley terms with you, child."

  The girl gave him a tiny shrug.

  "My father has starved for a long time. Hidden beneath the world. Healing and finding his strength. Ignored and unprayed to, except by a few. Seen all of your dreams. He is very hungry. You must let me in so he can feed."

  The Mayor looked to Middigan and spoke.

  "I called you because one of the merchants that ran from her saw beneath the cowl of her companion. Look at the beard, Middigan. Look at it."

  Middigan narrowed his old eyes and peered down at the tall monk stood next to the horse. Sure his eyes were mistaken because the figure was as tall as her mount. He gazed at the straggly appendages hanging down from the bottom of the cowl. They almost seemed to writhe. In a moment of shock he recoiled and looked to the Mayor with incomprehension.

  "They're..."

  The young girl turned in the saddle and leaned in to her companion. She whispered something to him and Middigan saw green mist snake from her mouth and drift under the hood. Then the figure reached up with appendages not hands and drew back its cowl.

  Middigan stared at the entity but his mind would not accept it. The man had no face, no head! Just a writhing pile of rats squirming around in a vague head-shape. A few tails hung down as a tendril beard. The girl spoke again.

  "My true father filled me with sorrow. Unless you let me in and surrender your town. You have treasures inside that we want."

  Something more than the words chilled Middigan's soul. The child sounded like a creature who did not understand speech and language. Mimicking it somehow. The voice distorted and foul. Too loud for a child's lungs to produce.

  Middigan looked at the construct that was her companion. The writhing black bodies glistened as they wormed their way around each other. He had seen frozen rat kings in the sewers with their tails stuck together. But this was not possible.

  The Mayor turned to him.

  "Have you ever seen such rats? Have you ever seen anything like this, Middigan?"

  Middigan shook his head in shock.

  "No, of course not. That's not natural, not the behavior of vermin. That's sorcery. That girl isn't sick with disease, milord, she sick with dark magic."

  The girl steadied her horse and looked up again.

  "My father hungers. But he can find no thaumaturgy to feed upon. So he must feed on lesser things."

  The mayor shouted down at her.

  "There are many good souls in these walls. You will keep your foul witchcraft away from us. The king will hear of this! Magic is the preserve of the gods alone. Hexmaidens like you purged years ago. He will send his Witchfinders to hunt you."

  The child raised her hand and her sleeve fell back to her elbow. Gleaming on her finger a ring everybody knew. A great purple stone within a cage of gold. The royal seal. The girl smiled without kindness.

  "Good people. I am sent from the royal household itself, to parley with you. Let me in."

  The mayor stared at the ring in horror.

  "Get away from here. Foul liar and polluted with magic. We will tear the Magus from your body and burn it! Now go before I call an archer to pepper you with wood."

  The girl nodded.

  "Pray to whatever gods you have and make your peace with your kin. By three days dawn you will be part of us."

  Middigan watched in horror as the collection of man shaped rats spread its arms wide. It stood there for a moment as if about to speak. Then it collapsed into a hundred shrieking rodents that scurried towards the city walls. A fine green mist rose from their fur. Middigan didn't trust his eyes as much as he used to, but as they scurried towards nooks and crannies of the wall, he could swear they grew in size.

  The mayor turned to Middigan and grabbed his collar.

  "They're getting in. They carry some foul plague and sorcery. Hunt them down. Find every last one of them and kill them."

  Middigan glanced down at the now empty robes on the road. The girl on the horse impassive now and said no more.

  He nodded to the mayor and then walked to the edge of the platform, looking inward over the city. It looked so safe from the outside. A huge high wall surrounding them. Now all trapped inside.

  At his feet, Trippin hunkered down and snarled out at Crowburgh.

  "Easy lad. Save your strength. I'm thinking this is going to take more than a rat killing stick. But vermin are vermin. Not one bested me yet. Come on, let's go get your supper."

  4

  Alfred stood in the observatory of Ironghast looking out at the Torrent.

  He tried to control his sweating palms, clammy face and rapid breathing. He did not want the other aspirants to see how scared he was. But more than anything he didn't want the girl Deena to know. She had acknowledged him since they had been ushered into this high tower by Invar Ironbound.

  All of them made to stand in a row at the edge of the wide viewing balcony.

  Ironghast stood on a narrow promontory at the edge of a jagged mountain range. Ahead of the monastery to the east a two hundred foot drop leading to the desolation of the Bleaks. The route Alfred, and all of them, had travelled to reach Ironghast. But behind the monastery to the west where they now faced a wide valley strewn with ruined pillars and fallen roofs. At the end of this valley a swirling maelstrom of stormclouds. A vast globe of rage that hung blocking the mountain pass. Bigger than the gloomy mountains around it . Flashes of purple lightning emanated from within the cloud. Alfred felt so small and insignificant in its presence. He thought it to be a sentient thing, a slow growling titan issuing a warning not to approach.

  But approach he must.

  Behind them Invar Ironbound paced, his hands behind his back. His grey hood up, the aspirants heard his heavy boots pace behind them.

  "If anything on this earth is symbol of what the world went through a thousand years ago, it is The Torrent. The last stand of the armies of men, Old races, Gods, angels, and the filth of the Sorrow."

  Alfred gulped as another heartbeat of purple lightning pulsed within the distant maelstrom. He felt the air vibrate in front of him and a pulse of energy hit his face. He glanced to his side. They all felt it. He saw Deena's blue eyes narrow as the sorcery washed over them.

  She turned her head and spoke behind her as Invar walked past.

  "Anyone ever walked inside before, Master Invar?"

  Invar stopped behind her and leaned his head in close to her ear. Alfred could see her wince from the old paladin's whisky breath.

  "The question you should be asking, aspirant, is whether anyone ever walked out again."

  Deena straightened her head and resumed her attentive stance. Gazing forward out to the ominous cloud.

  "And have they, master?"

  Invar started pacing again. He gave a deep sigh.

  "Not whole. There have been a few over the centuries who have entered. Hermits and madmen. Those thinking they hear the voice of god or those plagued by devils. Almost every last one of them set ablaze the instant they crossed the threshold into the Torrent. Not even bones left. Left that way by the gods for a reason. So much residual magic in there, it bent reality. And the slime of the Sorrow lingers in there too. Alive but trapped. "

  One of the other aspirants, a tall lean lad with cropped black hair, shuffled. He spoke what the rest of them were thinking.

  "With the greatest respect master, how does anyone know that our blessing will protect us? What's to stop us becoming fireballs as we step across?

  Another aspirant, a weasel faced girl with hair like straw and blotchy freckles,
could not hide the waver in her voice.

  "Are we relying on the vague promises of ancient riddles, in forgotten books, that not even scholars of Angall can agree on what they mean? No living person can translate the language of Angall."

  Alfred glanced sidelong at the group. He cleared his throat and spoke.

  "I can."

  A well-built youth with a flat face and bad teeth snorted beside Alfred.

  "I'm glad you can, because you don't look like you could fight sleep."

  Deena jabbed a quick elbow out into the boy's ribs. The air went from him and he doubled up for a moment, struggling to stay on his feet. Then he straightened up and cast her an evil glare. Deena stared straight forward and smiled.

  "It's not the size of the dog in the fight, tubby. Leave him alone."

  Alfred felt an almost overwhelming surge of warmth and his belly fluttered again. She had just stuck up for him. Perhaps she didn't despise him out of hand after all. Invar clouted the flat faced boy on the back of the head as he passed. The lad winced and stood to attention.

  "Someone who can read Angallic script will be of utmost importance once you are inside. Riddles and warnings aren't just written in books. If Alfred's blessing warped to gift him the ability to comprehend secret languages, it may save your lives. In fact, you will likely all rely on each other if you're to survive. So you better start respecting and looking after one another. Once you're in there, you'll be the only friendly faces any of you will see for a good while."

  Something snagged in Alfred's brain. He stood there to attention with his hands behind his back, gazing out across the valley of ruins at the rumbling cloud. It flashed purple again, deep within its heart.

  "Master Invar. You said no living man had crossed into the Torrent. Then how can you still know what is in there after so many years?"

  Invar stopped pacing behind them.

  "I said almost no one. One man walked out, forty years ago. Been living here at the monastery ever since."

  A ripple of amazement ran through the row of black clad youths. They glanced at each other and muttered. Alfred spoke out.