Down Among the Dead Men (Forest Kingdom Novels) (16 page)

Wilde shrugged. “I’m his man. For the time being.”

“You used to be a hero,” said Flint. “What happened to you?”

“The world changed,” said Wilde, “and I lost my way.”

“Reluctant as I am to interrupt such a tender reunion,” said Hammer, “I do have some business to take care of here.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” said Jack quietly. “Four Rangers, and one of them a Bladesmaster? The odds stink, Hammer. I’m all for a swift retreat, myself.”

“Shut up,” said Hammer. “Sergeant MacNeil, I think perhaps you and I had better have a little talk. Just the two of us.”

“Yes,” said MacNeil. “I think that’s probably a good idea. We can talk over there, by the trapdoor, well away from both our people.”

Hammer nodded. “A truce. For the time being.”

“Agreed,” said MacNeil. He slid his sword back into its scabbard, and after a moment Hammer did the same. The foot-long hilt of the longsword strapped to Hammer’s back seemed to peer mockingly at MacNeil as Hammer handed Jack his lantern and walked over to the trapdoor. Flint tapped MacNeil lightly on the arm, and he bent his head forward slightly so that she could whisper to him unobtrusively.

“Don’t trust him, Duncan. Word is, he’s loyal only to himself. His word’s worthless, even when backed with guarantees.”

“Thanks,” said MacNeil quietly. “Unfortunately, we need all the help we can get if we’re going to take on whatever’s waiting down there in the tunnels. And Jessica, while we’re talking … keep Wilde occupied. All right?”

“Sure,” said Flint. “No problem.”

MacNeil moved casually over to join Hammer by the trapdoor. They stood in silence a while, sizing each other up. They were both big men, hard and muscular, and each of them recognized in the other the strength of spirit that comes from constant testing in adversity.

Hammer was quietly impressed by the calm, confident strength he sensed in the Ranger Sergeant, but he had no doubt he could bend MacNeil to his will. Everyone bowed to him eventually. In the meantime, best to play the gentleman and throw the Ranger off guard with honeyed words. They needed each other. For now.

MacNeil wasn’t sure how he felt about Hammer, but he had no doubts about the longsword on Hammer’s back. Even without Constance to tell him, he felt sure he would have recognized the Infernal Device for what it was. This close, the sword grated on his nerves like an unending shriek in the still of the night. MacNeil wondered if Hammer really knew what he carried on his back.

“You want the gold,” said MacNeil bluntly. “I’m more interested in the creature that’s down there with it.”

“Creature?” said Hammer. “What creature?”

MacNeil nodded at Constance. “Our witch has the Sight. She says there’s something old and nasty buried deep in the earth below us. It’s sleeping very lightly. She calls it the Beast. It’s responsible for everything that’s happened here.”

“I take it you’ve already had some contact with this Beast,” said Hammer, nodding at the blood that soaked MacNeil’s clothing.

“When we first opened the trapdoor, a fountain of blood came flying out. Gallons of the stuff. The tunnels under the cellar are dripping with blood.”

Hammer frowned. “Where’s it all coming from?”

“The Beast,” said MacNeil. “It knows what scares us.”

Hammer nodded slowly. “So, a merger between your people and mine, to destroy the Beast. Right?”

“Right.”

“I see. And what exactly do I get out of this deal?” “For helping to recover the missing gold, you’d be entitled to a reward,” said MacNeil.

Hammer smiled easily. “Why should I settle for a fraction of the gold when I could take all of it?”

“Because you’d have to fight your way past both us and the Beast to get it, and the odds aren’t nearly as much in your favor as you like to think. Wilde’s good with a bow, but we’ve got the Dancer. And whilst your sword is undoubtedly impressive, you don’t have the faintest idea of what’s waiting for you in the tunnels under this cellar.”

Hammer’s eyes narrowed. “What do you know about my sword?”

“It’s an Infernal Device.”

Hammer nodded slowly. “Yes. Wolfsbane.”

“I thought that was lost in the Demon War.”

“It was. I found it. Or it found me.” He shivered suddenly, and for a moment his eyes held a desperate, haunted look that vanished almost as soon as MacNeil recognized it. “All right, MacNeil, a joint venture. You seem to have the most experience with this Beast. What do we do first?”

“First,” said MacNeil, “you and I go down through the trapdoor and see how the land lies.”

Hammer gave him a hard look. “Just the two of us.”

MacNeil smiled. “Where’s your sense of adventure, Hammer? Our witch says the Beast is sleeping. The two of us on our own might be able to creep up on it undetected. Besides … I don’t trust this fort. Strange things have been happening here. There’s always the possibility the Beast is using the gold as bait to lure us down to it. If that’s so, I don’t want us all down in the tunnels. It’s far too convenient a place for an ambush. I’ll feel a lot better knowing there’s someone up here guarding our backs.”

“All right,” said Hammer. “Let’s do it.”

MacNeil looked over to where Flint and the Dancer and Wilde were talking. They seemed to be getting on well enough. At least Wilde and the Dancer weren’t actually trying to kill each other.

When MacNeil had first moved away to talk with Hammer, Flint found herself facing Wilde without any idea of what to say to him.
Keep him occupied
, MacNeil had said. But what the hell was there to say? This wasn’t the man she remembered from the last great battle of the Demon War. That man had been coarse and vulgar, even brutal on occasion, but he had also been brave and forthright and obsessively honest in his dealings with people. This new Wilde had a face grown tired and hard, with lines of practiced brutality etched clearly around the eyes and mouth.

“You’re looking well, Jess,” said Wilde. “How long have you been a Ranger?”

“Eight years. Maybe a little more. How long have you been an outlaw?”

Wilde shrugged. “I’ve lost track. The years tend to fade into each other after a while.”

“You never told me you knew Edmond Wilde,” said the Dancer to Flint.

Wilde grinned. “Times change, eh, Jess? There was a time when people used to boast they knew me, even when they didn’t. Now even my friends disown me. Harsh old world, isn’t it?”

Flint met his gaze steadily. “You’re not the man I knew. The Edmond Wilde I remember wasn’t a rapist and a murderer.”

“You never did know me that well,” said Wilde.

“I’m relieved to hear it,” said the Dancer. “I’d hate to think she spent her time mixing with bad company.”

“What’s the matter, Dancer?” asked Wilde. “Afraid it might be contagious?”

“Don’t push your luck,” said the Dancer, very softly. “And stay away from Jessica.”

Wilde laughed. “If I want her, I’ll take her. And there’s nothing you or anybody else can do to stop me. I’m better with a bow than you’ll ever be with a sword. I’m the best there is.”

Flint dropped a hand onto the Dancer’s arm as he reached for his sword. “No, Giles! We need him!”

The Dancer looked at her, his face cold and impassive. “All right, Jessica. He’s safe. For now.”

Deliberately he turned his back on Wilde and walked away to be by himself. Wilde watched him go, grinning.

“You’re a fool to taunt the Dancer like that,” said Flint dispassionately.

“I can deal with him.”

“No, you can’t,” said Flint. “He’d kill you.”

“Would that matter to you?” said Wilde slowly. “It’s been a long time since my death mattered to anyone.”

“Friends are rare enough in this world. I wouldn’t want to lose any of them.”

“Even an outlaw like me?”

“Even you, Edmond. I still remember the way you fought outside the castle walls, standing back to back with me against all the demons in the long night. They even wrote a song about you.”

“Bet they don’t sing it anymore.” Wilde smiled gently at Flint, and some of the harsh lines faded from his face. “I loved you once, Jess. And you said you loved me.

“That was a long time ago,” said Flint. “We were dif
ferent
people then.”

“Were we?” said Wilde, but Flint had already walked away to join the Dancer.

Scarecrow Jack and the witch called Constance had passed the time chatting pleasantly. She helped him find a secure place for his torch and the lantern Hammer had given him, and he thanked her shyly. Constance brought him up to date on what-she’d discovered about the Beast, and he was able to confirm some of her guesses through his own Forest magic. Constance found his magic intensely fascinating and not a little disturbing. Jack’s communion with the Forest owed nothing to the High Magic she’d spent her life studying; his power came from the Wild Magic, the old, mercurial force that linked man with reality itself. She was also rather worried to discover that Jack seemed just as scared of the Beast as she was. If a legend like Scarecrow Jack didn’t know what to do for the best, what hope did she have? Constance put the thought firmly to one side. She’d worry about facing the Beast when she had to, and not before. And so she and Jack talked quietly together, and never once looked across at the trapdoor.

MacNeil slid back the two bolts and hauled the trapdoor open. Once again a vile stench issued from the dark opening, filling the cellar. MacNeil let the trapdoor fall backward onto the floor, and stepped back a pace. Jack batted a hand feebly before his face, as though searching for fresher air. Hammer looked warily into the opening, his hand resting on the hilt of the sword at his hip.

“It smells like something died down there,” he said finally.

“Wouldn’t surprise me in the least,” said MacNeil. He retrieved his lantern from where he’d left it, got down on one knee beside the opening, and gingerly lowered the lantern into the darkness. The pale light showed the first steps leading down into the darkness, all of them caked with dried blood. MacNeil moved the lantern about, showing Hammer glimpses of the bloodstained walls. Hammer looked at MacNeil.

“This is a setup,” he said flatly. “Whatever’s down there has to know we’re coming. It’s waiting for us.”

“Seems likely,” said MacNeil. “But I’m still going down. Unless you’ve got a better idea.”

Hammer started to say something and then stopped, staring silently at the dark opening. MacNeil got unhurriedly to his feet again.

“I’m going with you,” said Jack suddenly.

MacNeil and Hammer looked quickly around to find Jack standing behind them. They exchanged a glance as they realized neither of them had heard him approach. Jack said nothing more. He just stood there, smiling gently, waiting for them to make their decision. MacNeil looked at him thoughtfully. So this was the legendary Scarecrow Jack, the wild free spirit of the Forest. He didn’t look as impressive as MacNeil had thought he would. His clothes were little more than rags, and though he’d apparently been through a recent drenching, he still looked and smelled as though he hadn’t bathed since he was baptised. And yet there was something about him … something in the calm face and steady gaze that made MacNeil want to trust him. Even if he was Hammer’s man. MacNeil shrugged mentally. If Scarecrow Jack was half the man his legend made him out to be, he’d be a useful ally in the tunnels under the cellar, and right now he could use an ally he could safely turn his back on.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Jack,” he said finally. “I wouldn’t have thought this was your kind of fight.”

“This is everybody’s fight,” said Jack evenly. “The Beast will destroy the Forest and everything that lives in it if we allow it to wake. You’re going to need me down there, Sergeant. I can feel it.”

“He’s right,” said Constance. “I can’t go with you. My magic makes me especially vulnerable to the Beast. It might be able to use me against you. Jack’s part of the Wild Magic; he can guide and guard you when I can’t.”

MacNeil looked at Hammer, who shrugged indifferently. “All right,” said MacNeil briskly, “but, Jack, if we have to use our swords, get out of the way fast and stay out of the way. Is that clear?”

“Sure,” said Jack. He stared unmoved into the dark opening in the floor. “Who goes first?”

“I do,” said MacNeil. “That’s my job.” He checked the amount of candle left in his lantern, hefted his sword once, and then stepped gingerly down onto the first of the bloodstained steps inside the opening. The wooden step groaned loudly and gave under his foot. MacNeil waited a moment, and the step steadied itself. He made his way carefully down the stairs, and the light from his lantern moved slowly ahead of him, revealing more steps falling down into the darkness. Hammer drew the sword on his hip and followed MacNeil down the stairs. Jack retrieved his torch from the wall holder, and followed Hammer down into the darkness. Halfway down the steps, MacNeil glanced back over his shoulder at Hammer.

“I would draw your other sword, Hammer. You’re going to need it down here.”

“No. Not yet.”

“I’ve seen what lives in these tunnels. There are great crawling giants—”

“I said not yet! I’ll draw the Device when I have to, and not before. The Beast isn’t the only thing here that sleeps lightly.”

MacNeil remembered some of the whispers he’d heard about the Infernal Devices during the Demon War, and shuddered despite himself. There were those who said the Damned swords were more of a threat than the demons could ever be. MacNeil squared his shoulders and carried on down the stairs, and he and Hammer and Jack quickly disappeared into the gloom, until even the glow of the lantern and the torch was gone, smothered in darkness.

Flint and the Dancer shut the trapdoor after them, grunting in surprise at the weight of the great slab of solid oak. They looked at the two steel bolts, glanced at each other, and then stepped back from the trapdoor.

“Bolt it,” said Wilde. “You never know.”

The Dancer shook his head. “If they have to retreat in a hurry, they’re going to need a quick exit.”

“What if they bring something back with them?”

The Dancer smiled. “That’s what we’re here for.”