The Limbs of the Dead (A Wielders Novel Book 3) Read online

  “It’s time for you to go home to bed,” said Skulks to the first one.

  “Ale!” the figure hissed in anger, flailing out wildly at Skulks, who swayed back. The flailer of the arm stumbled, off balance.

  “There’s no need for violence,” said Skulks calmly. “If you’re so desperate for ale, maybe you should go and find a tavern where they’ll serve you. I personally think you’ve had quite enough.”

  As Skulks lectured, an arm shot out from the second figure which was still on the ground. It clutched at Skulks’ boot and pulled with surprising strength, hauling him from his feet. Using his free leg Skulks kicked out, catching his assailant in the face with a boot heel. The man grunted, but gave no other sign of distress in spite of the heel print left on his forehead and nose. In fact, this man’s arm maintained its grip on the Wielder’s boot and yanked it clean from the foot contained within.

  “Give me my boot back!” exclaimed Skulks indignantly as the first figure fell upon him, using its arms as crude bludgeons. It was much stronger than Skulks had anticipated, but he managed to throw it from him, though not before it caught his cheek bone a hefty whack. The figure rolled over twice and was brought to a halt by a nearby wall, whereupon it slowly pushed itself back to its feet.

  Skulks also came to his feet, but he sprung to them from his prone position, determined to mete out a drubbing to these ungrateful gentlemen who had seen fit to attack an honest citizen such as he. The third figure was now within range of his fists and Skulks smacked it twice on the nose, holding back for he didn’t want to do serious harm. The figure didn’t even flinch at his strikes, though its head was knocked back by the force of the blows.

  “Ale!” it demanded incongruously, issuing forth with several wild swings.

  “I have no ale, but you may taste of my knuckles!” said Skulks, punching it twice more before he had to retreat as the second figure closed in on him.

  His Thief’s Senses put a comradely arm around his shoulder. ‘I think you might need to punch them a little bit harder’, his Senses suggested, one friend to another. ‘Perhaps a head-butt or two might help’.

  Taking this advice on board, Skulks caught the second man with a thundering right hook. A nose was squashed, teeth flew out and the head was knocked back, but it did nothing apart from grunt.

  “These are not normal men, bolstered by the courage of inebriation!” said Skulks to himself. “If I were a betting man, I would say that they are already dead and animated by wizardry!” He promptly bet himself twenty Slivers that he was correct, though he always found betting with himself to be strangely unsatisfying. Even if he won, he also lost and he didn’t like owing himself money.

  Distracted by his internal monologue, Skulks was caught off guard by the first dead-man, which had taken advantage of Skulks’ faraway look to crook an elbow around his throat and start squeezing. This close, Skulks could smell the early signs of decay, sweeping away any advance guilt at what he might have to do.

  “Ale,” it whispered into his ear, breath cold and stinking of rotting meat and hops.

  With his single booted foot, Skulks kicked out at the closest dead-man, catching it square in the balls which the figure gave no effort to guard. Its dull eyes widened slightly, but of pain it gave no sign. Following the kick, Skulks snapped his head backwards, crunching it into an unfeeling face behind him. The arm around his neck continued to squeeze and throttle.

  “Gurgle!” said Skulks for effect as he rammed his head backwards twice more, feeling the recipient’s cheek bone crunch and soften. Dropping to his haunches, Skulks leaned forwards, flipping the dead-man over his shoulder whilst twisting its arm into a most disturbing position. The tumbling body tripped another assailant and in the confusion, Skulks planted his foot on the man’s chest and twisted the arm some more, from which he heard a grotesque tearing sound.

  As these four were locked in their combat, an elderly couple chanced by. It was the fiftieth anniversary of their wedding and they had been out to share a bottle of vintage Everseen Scrumptious at Cribbler’s, which was a tavern with pretensions. Hardened was mostly a safe city, so they’d seen little risk in taking a short-cut down the alley in which they now found Skulks, knee-deep in the dead.

  “Good evening!” said Skulks heartily as he gave the arm one final yank. It tore free, bloodless, pale and now a separate entity to its erstwhile owner.

  Required by the dictates of politeness, both lady and gentleman rejoined with an equally hearty “Good evening!” of their own, wincing as Skulks used the arm as a club to hit out at another of the dead creatures before him.

  “I say, is everything all right?” asked the man, who had been raised properly in a house where a gentleman always stood up for the downtrodden.

  “I thank you for your concern, kind sir, but pay these ruffians no mind,” Skulks reassured him.

  The elderly gentleman watched as Skulks cast the arm aside and head-butted one of his opponents firmly on the nose.

  “I was asking these other gentlemen if they were all right, for you seem more than capable of defending yourself.”

  “Ale,” one of them whispered.

  “Aha, drunken louts, is it? Very well, good luck to you sir,” said the old man, now addressing Skulks.

  “Good night to you,” responded Skulks ducking under two flailing arms and receiving a hit on the back of his head. As the elderly couple hurried away, Skulks sallied forth with a volley of jabs, striking one dead-man five or six times as it failed to defend itself. The figure stumbled away, addled, but not defeated. ‘It might be time to draw your dagger-swords’ suggested the Thief’s Senses, though in this Skulks had pre-empted his own advice to himself by having them already in his hands.

  The next flailing arm found itself shortened by the length of one hand and a nearby face found its eyeball playing host to the narrow end of a dagger-sword. Without a sound, this dead-man fell to the street and flailed no more. The other two were unconcerned at the loss of their ale-demanding partner and pursued their requests for alcohol. They were hardy and gave no indication that pain was a setback to them. They were also fast, but clumsy and slow-witted. After a short period of ducking and stabbing, a second assailant was lacking two hands and a foot. It flopped about angrily on the ground until Skulks stabbed it in the head, at which point it had the good grace to lay still.

  The final dead-man was dispatched shortly afterwards, with Skulks having learned that a dagger to the brain would see these creatures off with alacrity. As he stood, surrounded by lopped and torn-off body parts, Skulks re-sheathed his dagger-swords reflecting happily that he didn’t need to clean them, for the dead-men spilled no blood.

  Having worked up a thirst, Skulks resumed his earlier mission to find himself a tavern. With his mouth dry from exertion, he arrived at the bar in the Trammelled Sausage. The bar keep leaned close to hear what his parched customer required.

  “Ale,” whispered Skulks.

  Three

  The following morning it was not ale for which Skulks whispered.

  “Water,” he croaked as he dragged himself from his rumpled pit. The taste in his mouth made him think that he’d been chewing on a dead-man’s arm. A crinkling sound underfoot revealed the true culprit, which was a three-quarters consumed parcel of chicken shreds upon the floor where he’d dropped it on his return last night.

  Having done his best to suck the tap dry of its contents, Skulks headed to the Chamber Building, with the front of his head feeling like it was being thumped repeatedly by the arm he hadn’t been chewing on. He thought it significant that he’d been attacked by dead people, so let himself into Heathen Spout’s office through the window, a habit he enjoyed. As usual, he let Spout sit unsuspecting for a few moments before he announced himself. And announce himself he did, with a loud and unexpected eructation which tasted of flowers with undertones of cheese.

  “Odd,” he thought to himself. “I’d have expected to taste chicken.”

  “Oh Tan, t
hat stinks!” exclaimed Spout, wafting her hands in front of her face as she attempted to disperse the odour.

  “My apologies Lady Spout,” said an unrepentant Skulks, showing his lack of concern by eating one of her pastries.

  Still coughing, Spout gathered herself. “I’ll put some bars across my window, if you’re not careful,” she told him, already realising that they probably wouldn’t stop him. “What can I do for you?”

  Without niceties or preamble, Skulks spoke to her. “I was attacked by the dead yesterday evening. There were three of them and they proved most reluctant to return to the unmoving state of deadness.”

  Spout was very well-informed about the goings-on of Hardened and was not surprised. “You are not alone, Tan. There have been several such reported cases now. Our doughty citizens have up until now managed to subdue these creatures without suffering a death of their own, but if the attacks continue it can only be a matter of time until the dead kill the living!”

  “I shall investigate my to-do tray as a matter of urgency. I am sure pertinent information already waits there,” Skulks told her. “And then I shall investigate and locate the source of these dead-men, which I already suspect to be foul sorcery!”

  Knowing that Skulks had a dislike of the magical, even though he now had small powers of his own, Spout nodded. Where wizardry was concerned, it was easier to just go along with it and let him rant.

  “I hear that Hardened’s beloved pets are behaving in unexpected ways,” she prompted him.

  “This is true. Elderly gentlemen have been bitten upon their posteriors and legs have been worried. I have attempted to follow a likely-looking hound I have called Pumper, but it did not lead me to a cause.”

  “Tan, you can’t just follow dogs at random. There must be another way to find out what’s getting into them.”

  “I agree with you wholeheartedly - I wasted an entire afternoon watching Pumper licking his balls.” Though this wasn’t entirely true, it was the abiding memory Skulks had of the chase.

  Spout shook her head at his foolishness. “I’m sure you can approach it more efficiently, Tan. But perhaps you need to focus on these dead-men first. They seem more threatening than an over-excited pet or two and we can’t have our poor citizens reduced to such a sorry state.”

  “Very well!” stated he with certainty. “My office will investigate these doings with the highest priority!” With that, he spun on his heel and exited Spout’s room by means of the window.

  Though he had talked with confidence, Skulks was lacking this attribute, for he wasn’t sure how best to tackle the problem of thirsty dead people. He returned to his office to see if anything could be gleaned from his to-do box that Spout hadn’t already advised him of. He flicked through the contents, discarding most. There were three sheets of paper describing attacks which seemed to bear a similarity to that which he was looking for.

  “What clues do I have?” he asked himself while flipping through the papers. “All the attacks are in a certain area of the South District and all of the attackers are reported to demand ale.” He scratched his chin, before coming to the inevitable conclusion. “I must start my investigations in a tavern!” he said aloud, not realising that he’d spent several hours gossiping to the locals in the Trammelled Sausage the previous evening, with none of them providing the clues he craved. Undaunted by this flaw in his plan, he set forth for the South District once more.

  “If I have to visit every tavern in the neighbourhood, then so be it!” he exclaimed, feeling himself to be most industrious in his forthcoming endeavours. This was Skulks down to a tee. He approached everything with the best of intentions, but always managed to fit an opportunity for life’s pleasures into these best intentions. A few streets into the South District he found himself standing in a queue at a baker’s shop, looking to placate his angry stomach. He felt that any shop with a queue was worth visiting at least once.

  “I got chased by three rats on me way here,” said an elderly lady in front of him.

  “Them filthy vermin’s dangerous, they are! The Council should do more to control them!” said another in response.

  “And the ale-swillers!” said a third. “I had to run past two men begging me for ale just to get here! I can feel it in me hip now.”

  “Ooh it’s not right is it? The city’s going to rack and ruin it is. Mark my words!”

  Skulks listened to the idle chatter with interest until he got to the front of the queue, where, with eyes as large as his belly, he purchased twelve Slivers’ worth of cakes. Someone behind him tutted as they saw he’d bought the last two cream sconey’s they had wished to purchase. Unmindful of this person’s stares, Skulks left the shop sighing in pleasure as he bit into one, accidentally dropping the second onto the floor and ruining it. With his gurgling stomach quelled, Skulks ruminated about the cakes he’d just eaten, already wishing he’d bought more. His contemplations were interrupted by a growling sound.

  “Why it’s little Pumper!” said Skulks, noting that he was adjacent to the alley in which he’d followed the hound the previous day. The passing of time had left him with a feeling of fondness for the dog, which was not reflected in the reality of his encounter with it the day before.

  “Here boy!” said Skulks, giving it an encouraging whistle. “Come on Pumper, see your Uncle Tan.” He chided himself for his greed in eating all of his cakes, for now he had nothing left to fill this hungry hound’s belly. Pumper growled again. He was crouched low at the entrance to his favourite alley, teeth bared at Skulks.

  “Don’t be like that, Pumper,” said Skulks, giving it one of his disapproving looks which usually worked on animals. Pumper was not to be dissuaded from his growling, at least in part because his given name was Rimpy. His original owner lived on the other side of the city, having abandoned Rimpy here when the dog got too big and started costing three Slivers a day to feed.

  Skulks was good with animals and could usually read their intentions. Thus, when the growling Pumper-Rimpy leapt at him, he would normally have correctly assumed the dog was attacking him. Today, Skulks had managed to pull the wool over his own eyes, thoroughly convincing himself that Pumper was a good and faithful pet. Therefore, when Pumper fastened his teeth on Skulks’ forearm it came as something of a shock.

  “Down boy!” Skulks shouted hopefully as teeth sunk through the cloth of his tunic and Pumper started tugging this way and that. When Pumper showed no signs of letting him go, Skulks waved his arm up and down in the air, hoping to dislodge the treacherous animal. Pumper was stronger than he looked and clung on firmly, hoping to make off with a chunk of the arm he was enthusiastically worrying. As a crowd of interested onlookers gathered, Skulks dashed poor Pumper three times off the nearest wall, with his Wielder’s strength causing fatal injury to the animal. With Pumper slain, Skulks stood for a moment, mourning his loss.

  “’Ere mate, it’s still stuck to your arm,” said one of the onlookers helpfully. Skulks looked down and saw that the man was correct. Even in death, the dog retained its grip.

  “You’ve got to stick your finger up its bum,” said someone. “That’ll make it let go.”

  “Nah, that only works when it’s alive. If it’s dead you’ve got to grab its todger and pull,” said another.

  Eschewing both of these methods, Skulks braced the dog against his leg and pulled firmly with his other arm. There was a ripping sound apparent to all in the vicinity and the top half of Pumper’s jaw was torn upwards at an angle the dog would not have enjoyed were it still alive. Someone fainted as they saw it, with the gallant Skulks tossing Pumper aside and retaining the presence of mind to catch this person mid-swoon before they clattered to the pavement.

  “Oh thank you, kind sir,” said the gentleman’s wife. “I was not quick enough to arrest his fall.”

  Skulks thought that this good deed balanced the scales for the bad deed he had just committed against Pumper, though he admitted to himself that the dog was berserk and if it had chose
n a weaker target, such as a child, much more harm could have been done.

  “Therefore,” he told himself, “I have actually done two good deeds for the day. And I have put Pumper out of his misery, making the good deeds total up to three.”

  Pleased with his mental acrobatics, Skulks diverted from his path and made his way along the alley wherein Pumper had made his home prior to his untimely death. Yesterday, in fact mere hours ago, the dog had been in perfectly sound health. Today it had become a ravening monster, intent on consuming the good citizens of Hardened as well as the arm of its best friend Tan Skulks.

  “Did I miss something yesterday?” Skulks asked himself. “Pumper was but a normal dog last time I saw him.”

  Ignoring Heathen Spouts’ veiled admonishments that he should find out the source of the thirsty dead, Skulks decided that he needed to follow this new line of enquiry while the trail was hot. He followed the alley, stopping every now and then to nudge at the papers or crates into which Pumper had pushed his nose the previous day. He crouched down and inspected several dried urine stains on the wall for signs of disease, though he knew not how this might manifest itself. At one point, he even sniffed at a patch he thought looked unusual.

  “Piss,” he concluded, ignoring the stares of two young children.

  “Hey, mister,” one of them called. “Why’re you sniffing that dog’s widdle?”

  “I am looking to find out why the animals of this neighbourhood are attacking people,” said Skulks, happy to engage in conversation with them. “It might be a disease to be found in the wee of another dog.”

  “It’s not dog wee that’s doing it, mister,” said one child.

  “What do you think it is then?” asked Skulks, genuinely curious.

  “There’s something at the river.”

  “Yeah, we’ve seen cats, dogs and all sorts going there.”