Part 17 (2/2)
Thus hailed, they halted. The figure that had spoken had paused in its stroll down the osseous promenade. It was a lizard, but while both Ehomba and Simna were familiar with the four-legged reptiles from their respective travels and homelands, neither man had ever encountered a lizard like the one they confronted now.
Standing on its severely bowed hind legs, the reptile was a good three feet tall. It wore a military-style cap, maroon vest with gold stripes, long, tattered brown pants, and no shoes. Stretching another three feet behind it, a brown-and-green tail whipped nervously back and forth as it spoke. Completing the unexpected costume were a pair of pince-nez gla.s.ses that rode comfortably halfway down its snout.
Inclining its head slightly downward so it could peer out over these at the visitors, the lizard tut-tutted softly. ”I declare, you lot are the most peculiar collection I've seen in some time. If you don't like it here, I suggest you move on.”
”That is exactly what we are planning to do,” Ehomba responded politely. ”Just as soon as we are able to top off our water supply.”
”So it's water you want, is it? In Skawpane.” The head bobbed rapidly up and down. ”Interesting. We don't get many calls for water here. Sulfur now, or antimony, or cinnabar; those the general store stocks in bulk. But water-your options are mighty restricted.” Slitted eyes blinked as they stared up the street.
”So's your time.”
”Why?” In the face of danger, it was typical for Simna's tone to turn belligerent. ”Don't the locals like company? Who are you, anyway?”
”I'm the town monitor. As for my fellow citizens, they're an intemperate lot at best. Never know how the individual members of such a mixed bunch are likely to react in any given situation. There's folks here who'd like to talk to you, some who might invite you in for a game of cards or bowls, but most would probably prefer just to tear you limb from limb.”
”Hungry?” Hunkapa Aub asked.
The lizard nodded. ”Or just surly. Or wanting the exercise. Even established locals have to watch their step. The fiends among us are no respecters of residency. Skawpane's a popular place among the d.a.m.ned and doomed.”
”Which are you?” Hunkapa inquired innocently.
”The downtrodden. In fact, things have been so bad hereabouts lately that I'm thinking of taking off for open country. You get tired of looking over your shoulder every minute. Trying to make a living in the midst of unrelenting demoniac anarchy takes a toll on one's health.”
Holding firmly to his spear, Ehomba watched as a pair of blue demons with four legs and long, warty snouts crossed the street in front of them. They were trailed by three magnificently ugly but well-dressed miniature versions of themselves. Much to their parents' satisfaction, the young demons fought continuously among themselves. Darting in and among the impish offspring was a small, yapping bundle of thorns that had feet but no legs. Or head.
”You said that our options were restricted. That implies that options exist. What are ours?”
”For obtaining water?” The lizard turned, claws clattering on the bone sidewalk, and pointed. ”The central plaza lies just ahead, on the other side of the memorial munic.i.p.al ceremonial slaughterhouse. In the middle of the plaza is the town fountain. That's where you'll find your water.”
”And no one will object to us filling our bags?”
The reptile shrugged. ”Your very presence here is an insult to all that is profane and unredeemed.
Mortals don't belong in Skawpane. Frankly, I'm surprised you're still alive. I would've thought by now that some enterprising perversion would have killed you, skinned you, and hung you out to cure in the sun. Or done so without killing you.” Cold reptilian eyes regarded them speculatively. ”As I said, you're an odd lot. You might get your water. Of course, after that you still have to make it safely out of town.”
A scaly thumb gestured.
”Remember: on past the slaughterhouse, middle of the central plaza. And good luck.”
With that it resumed its stroll along the sidewalk and had not gone more than a couple of yards before something long, leprous, and scarlet shot out from within a shaded storefront to wrap snakelike several times around its middle. Hissing violently, the lizard was drawn back into the depths of the aperture.
From within arose the sounds of violent and desperate conflict.
The travelers did not linger to witness the outcome. Ehomba led them onward, away from the noise of fighting. Not only was it the safe thing to do, it was the accepted reaction. None of the other locals out walking the streets paid the slightest attention to the shrouded life-and-death struggle taking place nearby.
They went about their business as if nothing untoward were taking place-which for Skawpane was perfectly true.
Simna placed his feet carefully, doing his best to avoid stepping on the pale white maggots that infested the street slime and snapped hungrily at his ankles. They could not catch him, but there were certain places on the public avenue where it would clearly be unwise to loiter. Though everywhere awash in corruption and decay, some spots were perceptibly worse than others.
”Hoy, I've seen too many tentacles since joining your company, Etjole.” The swordsman nodded back the way they had come. ”That one was particularly long and vicious. Reminded me of our encounter with the Kraken, but at least in this case there was only one of them.”
Ehomba kept his gaze alert as he unblinkingly scrutinized shadows and side pa.s.sages. ”Yes, but that was no tentacle, Simna. It was a tongue. And the storefront from which it emerged was not a place of business at all, but a mouth most carefully disguised. Little here is what it seems, and visitors such as ourselves can be sure of one thing only: the omnipresence of death.”
”Hoy-thanks for that explanation, bruther. I feel so much better now.” Behind them, the black litah paused repeatedly to flick slime from its paws.
”I am only pointing out what is true,” Ehomba countered.
”Sometimes it's better to keep what's true to yourself.” The swordsman nodded forward. ”Looks like more of the friendly citizenry has come out to greet us.”
From the ominous, looming double door that sealed the end of the slaughterhouse, more than a dozen of Skawpane's diverse inhabitants had emerged. They formed a line across the volcanic paving stones that marked the outskirts of the town plaza, blocking the only visible access to the center.
From their attire and accoutrements Ehomba decided that all or most of them must work in that dismal, odiferous structure. Several wore long ap.r.o.ns encrusted with revolting dark stains. Their expressions were frightful, their posture dire. It was clear that they had no intention of stepping aside to let the travelers pa.s.s.
Several stood more than ten feet tall and boasted multiple arms or boneless limbs. Others had three eyes, or no eyes at all. One of the creatures most nearly resembled the many-branched cacti that grew in isolated thickets back of the Naumkib's grazing lands. Toxic pus oozed from each quill, and the drool that ran in a steady trickle from a central orifice dissolved whatever it came in contact with.
All were armed. Not with weapons, but with the tools of their horrific, evil-smelling trade. Much in evidence were oversized skinning knives: long punctuation marks of metal, sharper than razors and blotchy with dried blood. The largest among the coterie of inhuman butchers fingered meat cleavers the size of small doors, weighty with malevolence. Standing in line, blocking progress, they watched the approach of the diverse quartet of advancing mortals. While most sported no expression at all (and indeed, some had nothing to express with), a few wore macabre grins that were crescent moons of pure evil.
Simna casually raised his sword. ”Maybe we should go around; try entering the square from another part of town?”
”What makes you think these wicked corruptions of all that lives and breathes would not be waiting for us there as well?” Keeping his voice down, Ehomba slipped his spear into its sling on his back. ”Besides, I have a strong feeling that if we were to turn our backs on any of the inhabitants of this place, they would take that as a sign of unqualified weakness and fall upon us in a body. From the moment we entered into the boundaries of Skawpane I sensed that sooner or later we would have to defend, and prove, ourselves.” Reaching back over his shoulder, he drew forth the sword of etched sky metal. As always, it emitted an imperceptible hiss when drawn from its scabbard. ”It seems it is to be sooner.”
One of the biggest of the brutish butchers laughed hollowly at the sight of the two bright, slim weapons.
Its impure t.i.ttering resonated through the soles of the travelers' feet.
”Puny mortal weapons will not serve here, little meat. We're going to carve you up, dress you down, and pick our teeth with your bones!”
Something that looked like it had been run over twenty times by a wagon laden with building stone weaved slowly back and forth on powerful, if unsteady, feet. It had one oversized, bloodshot eye and a second that seemed to float around the lower portion of its face like an iniquitous afterthought.
”Use your jugular for a straw and suck your blood. Nice 'n' salty.”
”Eyes,” declared something else that had no name, nor want of one. ”I claim the eyes.”
”Not all eight!” The cleaver-wielding hulk swaying next to it objected strenuously. ”Half are mine.” It raised the immense blade.
Holding his sword at the ready, with a tensed Hunkapa Aub guarding his left side, Simna ibn Sind brayed defiance. ”Come on then, you p.i.s.s-poor pack of putrescence! You motherless self-fornicators!
We'll see who's skilled with a blade here, and who's ripe for butchering! I'm thirsty, and I mean to drink my fill at your town fountain. And if that means going through you instead of around, then by Gucoron, have at it!” He nodded to his right, where a tall figure stood silently holding a larger sword before him.
”This here is Etjole Ehomba, the most powerful wizard on either side of the Semordria Ocean! Press him, and he'll blow out your eyes and pickle your entrails!” He gestured with one hand. ”Come on then, you long-winded flock of featherless foulness!”
”A wizard.” One of the other butchers cackled. ”Mortal magic doesn't work here, little meat. The atmosphere is all wrong. Too dry, or too hot, or too disrespectful. Skawpane is rife with impudence and contempt for anything that seeps in from the world outside. Your magic, if you command any, which by the looks of you I seriously doubt, will not save you here.” Saclike, malignant eyes bored into those of the swordsman. ”You're going todie here, little meat. But you won't be food for worms, because we leave no sc.r.a.ps for our pets.”
”Had a pet once,” mumbled the thing with one oversized eyeball and one too small, ”but it made too much noise one day. So I ate it. It was greasy.” Rubbery lips smacked. ”I like grease.”
<script>